When little Fanny came to town, I
felt as I could sing!
She were the sprackest little maid, the
sharpest, pertest thing.
Her mother were as proud as punch, and
as for I—well, there!
I never see sich gert blue eyes, I never
see sich hair!
"If all the weans in Somerset," says I,
"was standin' here,
Not one could hold a candle light, 'long-
side our little dear."
Now FANNY'S little Fan have come! She's
clingin' round my knees,
She's asking me for sups of tea, and bites
of bread and cheese.
She's climbing into grandma's bed, she's
stroking grandma's face.
She's tore my paper into bits and strawed
it round the place.
"If all the weans in all the world," says
I, "was standin' here,
Not one could hold a farthin' dip to
Fanny's little dear!"
For Fanny's little Fanny—oh, she's took
the heart of me!
'Tis childern's childern is the CROWN of
humble folk like we!
The Naughty Day
I've had a naughty day to-day.
I scrunched a biscuit in my hair,
And dipped my feeder in the milk,
And spread my rusk upon a chair.
When mother put me in my bath,
I tossed the water all about,
And popped the soap upon my head,
And threw the sponge and flannel out.
I wouldn't let her put my hand
Inside the arm-hole of my vest;
I held the sleeve until she said
I really never SHOULD be dressed.
And while she made the beds, I found
Her tidy, and took out the hairs;
And then I got the water-can
And tipped it headlong down the stairs.
I crawled along the kitchen floor,
And got some coal out of the box,
And drew black pictures on the walls,
And wiped my fingers on my socks.
Oh, this HAS been a naughty day!
That's why they've put me off to bed.
"He CAN'T get into mischief there,
Perhaps we'll have some peace," they
said.
They put the net across my cot,
Or else downstairs again I'd creep.
But, see, I'll suck the counterpane
To PULP before I go to sleep!
To a Little White Bird
Into the world you came, and I was
dumb,
Because "God did it," so the wise ones
said;
I wonder sometimes "Did you really
come?"
And "Are you truly . . . DEAD?"
Thus you went out—alone and uncaressed;
O sweet, soft thing, in all your infant
grace,
I never held you in my arms, nor pressed
Warm kisses on your face!
But, in the Garden of the Undefiled,
My soul will claim you . . . you, and
not another;
I shall hold out my arms, and say "MY
CHILD!"
And you will call me "MOTHER!"
Because
(PSALM CXVI.)
Because He heard my voice, and
answered me,
Because He listened, ah, so patiently,
In those dark days, when sorrowful, alone,
I knelt with tears, and prayed Him for a
stone;
Because He said me "Nay," and then in-
stead,
Oh, wonderful sweet truth! He gave me
bread,
Set my heart singing all in sweet accord;
Because of this, I love—I love the Lord!