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Hattie's Birthday Oh! This is a happy, beautiful world! My heart is light and gay; The birds in the trees sing blithely to me And I'm six years old to-day. Yes, six, and father has bought me a book, And mother, the sweetest doll, All dressed in white with blue eyes bright, And the nicest hat and shawl. My kitty sat quietly near the fire As Dolly and I came by; Miss Dolly bowed, and pussy meowed, And opened her yellow eye. Ah me! if Kit could only talk, And Dolly could but chat, We'd social be as any three— Talk, sing, and all of that. I dressed all up in grandma's cap, And put on her glasses too; "Why, Grandma!" I said, as I looked at myself, "I'm almost as old as you." My mother softly kissed my cheek, And then she blessed me too, Praying that I, as years went by, Might be as good and true. My birthday song is a merry one, And my heart is warm and light; Kind father, mother, and dear grandma, Sweet dolly and pussy, good night. |
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Youth and Age A funny thing I heard to-day, I might as well relate. Our Lil is six, and little May Still lacks a month of eight. And, through the open play-room door, I heard the elder say: "Lil, run downstairs and get my doll; Go quick, now—right away!" And Lillie said—(and I agreed That May was hardly fair):— "You might say 'please,' or go yourself— I didn't leave it there." "But, Lillie," urged the elder one, "Your little legs, you know, Are younger than mine are, child, And so you ought to go!" |
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Children "I would not be a girl," said Jack, "Because they have no fun; They cannot go a-fishing, nor A-shooting with a gun; They cannot climb up trees for fruit, Nor bathe without a bathing dress, Which is no fun at all." "I would not be a boy," said May, "For boys are nasty things, With pockets filled with hooks and knives, And nails, and tops and strings And when a boy becomes a man, He's got to buy girls rings;" |
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A Lost Child "I'm losted! Could you find me, please?" Poor little frightened baby! The wind had tossed her golden fleece, The stones had scratched her dimpled knees, I stooped and lifted her with ease, And softly whispered "Maybe." "Tell me your name, my little maid: I can't find you without it." "My name is Shiny-eyes," she said, "Yes; but your last name?" She shook her head: "Up to my house 'ey never said A single word about it." "But, dear," I said, "what is your name?" "Why, didn't you hear me told you? Dust Shiny-eyes." A bright thought came: "Yes, when you're good. But when they blame You little one,—is it just the same When mamma has to scold you?" "My mamma never scolds," she moans, A little blush ensuing, "'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones; And then she says (the culprit owns),— Mehitabel Sapphira Jones. What has you been a-doing?" Anna E. Burnham |
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Little Mary Here stands little, little Mary, With her face of winning grace, Chattering tongue that runs apace, And her ways contrary Who so gay as Mary? With her laughs of rippling glee Brimming o'er with melody,— Bonny, blithesome Mary. Household pet is Mary— Such a merry, joyous sprite, Filling all our home with light— Pretty winsome Mary! Mischief-loving Mary, Busy as the busiest bee, Full of sunshine, life, and glee Is our heart's sweet Mary! |
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Girl and Angel As Peter sat at Heaven's gate A maiden sought permission, And begged of him, if not too late, To give her free admission. "What claim hast thou to enter here?" He cried with earnest mien. "Please sir," said she, 'twixt hope and fear, "I'm only just sixteen!" "Enough," the hoary guardian said, And the gate wide open threw. "That is the age when every maid Is girl and angel too." |
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