JAMES'S SACRIFICE
Little James, full of play,
Went shooting one day,
Not thinking his sister was nigh;
The arrow was low,
But the wind raised it so,
That it hit her just over the eye.
This good little lad
Was exceedingly sad
At the pain he had given his sister;
He look'd at her eye,
And said, "Emma, don't cry,"
And then, too, he tenderly kiss'd her.
She could not then speak,
And it cost her a week
Before she recover'd her sight;
And James burn'd his bow
And his arrows, and so
I think little James acted right.
THE EXCELLENT LORD MAYOR
"Oh dear papa!" cried little Joe,
"How beautiful the Lord Mayor's show!
In that gold coach the Lord Mayor see—
How very happy he must be!"
"My dear," the careful parent said,
"Let not strange notions fill your head:
'Tis not the gold that we possess
That constitutes our happiness.
"The Lord Mayor, when a little boy,
His time did properly employ;
And, as he grew from youth to man,
To follow goodness was his plan.