COME AND PLAY IN THE GARDEN.
Little sister, come away,
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit,
And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours.
We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather them instead.
And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey,
And mind whatever she may say.
LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT FRET.
What is it that makes little Emily cry?
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
There—lay down your head on my bosom—that's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.
What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play?
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away;
But do not be fretful, my darling; you know
Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.
She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there—
Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare:
That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before.
Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more.