BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.
Buttercups and daisies,
Oh, the pretty flowers—
Coming ere the spring time,
To tell of sunny hours.
While the trees are leafless,
While the fields are bare,
Buttercups and daisies
Spring up here and there.
Ere the snowdrop peepeth,
Ere the crocus bold,
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold,
Somewhere on the sunny bank
Buttercups are bright;
Somewhere ’mong the frozen grass
Peeps the daisy white.
Little hardy flowers,
Like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health
By their mother’s door,
Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold;
Fearing not, and caring not,
Though they be a-cold!
What to them is Winter!
What are stormy showers!
Buttercups and daisies
Are these human flowers!
He who gave them hardships
And a life of care,
Gave them likewise hardy strength
And patient hearts to bear.
—Mary Howitt.
A Farmer Went Trotting.
A farmer went trotting
Upon his grey mare,
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
With his daughter behind him,
So rosy and fair,
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
A raven cried “Croak!”
And they all tumbled down,
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
The mare broke her knees,
And the farmer his crown,
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
The mischievous raven
Flew laughing away,
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
And vowed he would serve them
The same next day,
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
Black We Are.
Black we are, but much admired;
Men seek for us till they are tired;
We tire the horse, but comfort man;
Tell me this riddle if you can.
(Coals.)
