Halloo, old scuttle! good old soul,
What's become of all your coal?
"Why the tongs he came with a gobbledy-gun,
And took my coals out, one by one;
And the blaze ran in with a tricksy-spire
And set the pretty things a-fire;
And the blower came with a roaring-roar,
And made them burn up more and more;
And then the poker with koppitty-hop,
He poked their ashes and made 'em drop—
And that, O Gobbledy-Koppitty-dole!
Is what's become of all my coal."
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OH, NO!
If blue-birds bloomed like flowers in a row,
And never could make a sound,
How would the daisies and violets know
When to come out of the ground!
They would wait and wait the seasons round;
Never a flower could on earth be found.
And what would birds and butterflies do
If the flowers had wings to fly?
Why, birds and blossoms, and butterflies too,
Would stay far up in the sky;
And then the people would droop and sigh,
And all the children on earth would cry.
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THE SAND MAN.
Oho! but he travels the country over,
The queer little, kind little, elfish rover!
Lightly he bears in his tricksome hand
A silvery horn full of sleepy sand,
Shaking it here, and shaking it there,
Till the blossoms nod in the drowsy air;
Till the sunlight creeps up hill to bed,
Or slips through the sky where clouds are red;
Till the lambkins bleat a soft "good-night!"
And birds grow still in the tree-tops bright,
While sweet little eyelids, all over the land,
Droop with the weight of the silvery sand.
Oho! Oho! where the Sand Man goes
Every one wonders and nobody knows;
For just when the right time comes to peep,
Little and big are falling asleep.
He steals to the cradles, the cribs, the beds,
And sprinkles his sand over children's heads,
Till bright little faces lie warm and still,
Smiling or grave, at the Sand Man's will.
He catches them often at full midday,
And bids them stop in their merry play—
With a "Ho! my darling," "Hi! my dear,"
"I'll sing a dream-song into your ear."