They always learnt their lessons When it was time they should; And liked to eat up all their crusts— They were so very good. And then their frocks were never torn, Their tuckers always clean; And their hair so very tidy— Always quite fit to be seen. Then they made calls with their mamma And were so very neat; And learnt to bow becomingly When they met you in the street. And really they were everything That children ought to be; And well may be examples now For little you—and me.
They always learnt their lessons When it was time they should; And liked to eat up all their crusts— They were so very good. And then their frocks were never torn, Their tuckers always clean; And their hair so very tidy— Always quite fit to be seen. Then they made calls with their mamma And were so very neat; And learnt to bow becomingly When they met you in the street. And really they were everything That children ought to be; And well may be examples now For little you—and me.

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BABY MINE.

Baby mine, over the trees;

Baby mine, over the flowers;

Baby mine, over the sunshine;

Baby mine, over the showers.

Baby mine, over the land;

Baby mine, over the water.

Oh, when had a mother before

Such a sweet—such a sweet, little daughter!

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LITTLE GIRLS AND LITTLE LAMBS. In the May-time flowers grow; Little girls in meadows go; Little lambs frisk with delight, And in the green grass sleep at night. Little birds sing all the day, Oh, in such a happy way! All the day the sun is bright, Little stars shine all the night. The Cowslip says to the Primrose, "How soft the little Spring wind blows!" The Daisy and the Buttercup Sing every time that they look up. For beneath the sweet blue sky They see a pretty Butterfly; The Butterfly, when he looks down, Says, "What a pretty Flower Town!"
In the May-time flowers grow; Little girls in meadows go; Little lambs frisk with delight, And in the green grass sleep at night. Little birds sing all the day, Oh, in such a happy way! All the day the sun is bright, Little stars shine all the night. The Cowslip says to the Primrose, "How soft the little Spring wind blows!" The Daisy and the Buttercup Sing every time that they look up. For beneath the sweet blue sky They see a pretty Butterfly; The Butterfly, when he looks down, Says, "What a pretty Flower Town!"

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