“The gardener’s not here,” her mother replied;
He asked us to see his sweet flowers;
“I trust, my dear child, you would not wish to steal,—
These roses, you know, are not ours.
“Their beautiful fragrance you now can inhale,
Their lovely, bright colors enjoy,
Should you steal but one rose you’d be happy no more,
You would lose all this innocent joy.”
“O no! dear mamma, I should not wish to steal,
So I’ll bid these sweet roses adieu!
Now, Rover,” said Ella, “we’re ready to play,
And I will be happy with you.”
IDA MAY.
No little girl
More bright and gay,
Or happier
Than Ida May
As she ran off
To school one day,
And passed the store
Of Mr. Gray,
Where, near the door,
Some ripe plums lay,
And Satan whispered,
Ida May—
Take but one plum,
Then run away;
You’ll not be seen
By Mr. Gray.
Oh, had she thought
One prayer to say,
She’d not have sinned,
Poor Ida May!
She caught one up,
Then ran away,
And was not seen
By Mr. Gray.