No titled infant for whose brow a coronet shines fair
Is blest with better health than thou or nursed with tenderer care;
And be it prince or peasant’s child, the station high or low,
These blessings are the only ones its earliest days can know.
I would not damp thy present joy with tales of future care,
Nor paint the ills of life, dear boy, which thou must feel and bear;
The early dew is fair to view although it vanish soon,
And lovely is the morning flower that withers when ’tis noon.
Thy heavenly Father, by whose will a living soul is thine,
By his good Spirit visits still this heritage divine,
And children who in innocence the path of life hath trod,
Hear often in their tender minds the indwelling voice of God.
As reason dawns, as mind expands, in childhood’s opening day,
Thou oft wilt hear his high commands, to shun the evil way;
And every evil thought resigned to this divine control,
Will bring a sweetness to thy mind, a blessing to thy soul.
Dear as thy welfare is to me, I cannot frame a thought,
I cannot breathe a wish for thee with happiness more fraught,
Than that this heavenly Friend may prove the Ruler of thy way,
And thy young heart incline to love, to hearken, and obey.
SLEEP, LITTLE BIRDIE!
Hush, little birdie,
I’ll sing you a song,
One that is sweet,
And not very long;
Peep! peep!
Go to sleep!
Lullaby, birdie!
While taking your rest,—
Nothing shall harm you,
You’re safe in your nest.
Peep! peep!
Go to sleep!
THE WOUNDED FOOT.
The children are grieved, for the poor little boy
Has wounded his foot with a thorn;
And Willie and Fred have left their play,
And both of them have gone