Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby! Pink and white blossom, go you to sleep. Bluebells are silent, hushaby, lullaby, only the stars may twinkle and peep. Blue eyes of baby, hushaby, lullaby, now must they close 'neath their curtains so white. The thrush has ceased singing, hushaby, lullaby, pink and white blossom, I kiss you good-night. The white woolly lambkins are peacefully sleeping, hushaby, lullaby, gold-haloed head. O'er the gold of the meadows a grey mist is creeping, the wings of the angels now curtain your bed. Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby. Your cot is a garden, the fairest I know. Rose petals your cheeks are, hushaby, lullaby, and the curls on the pillow like buttercups glow! Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby, fall you to sleep while the nightingales sing. Bluebells your eyes are, hushaby, lullaby, pink and white blossom, the glory of spring.
UNTO THE DAY—
Many things in this world are bad, no good looking the other way, lots of things to make us sad—but it's very fine to-day. Loads of troubles come to us, you've had yours and I've had mine. We won't brood and fret and fuss—for to-day is very fine. Chilly when the winter's here, and no leaf is on the bough. Let us sing a song of cheer—for it's very pleasant now. Life is often cruel, unkind. Vainly seek we for the light. Gusts of passion fog the mind—but, just now, the sun shines bright. Let's not brood on grief that's past, shadows fall but shadows lift. Only Love and Goodness last—let's enjoy to-day's good gift.
AT THE DAY'S END
Your pardon, Life, if we have treated ill one hour of this good day; if we have shown a stubborn, sulky will, choosing an ugly way, though you have offered for our errant feet a well-built, clean, a straight and smiling street! Your pardon, Life, if we have failed to see the beauty of each hour; if we have walked with eyes turned inwardly, blind to a bird or flow'r; to all the loveliness you offered us. Your pardon, Life, if we have acted thus. And if we have, one moment, turned deaf ears to voices that inspire; if we have entertained pale, cowardly fears and fanned a low desire; if we have brought to naught one gift you gave, your pardon, Life, we crave. Oh, hear us, Life, if we have acted ill, in deed or thought along the way; to-morrow we will rise with strengthened will—and tarnish not your day.
THE FAMILY DOCTOR
He has no time to "specialise," is quite unknown to fame; he's understanding, kindly, wise, and "doctor" is his name. Always at patients' beck and call, all hours of day and night, for both momentous ills and small—and oft with death to fight. Not always is it draughts to drink, his trusting patients need. He tries to make the thoughtless think—'tis sometimes hearts that bleed. The honoured confidant and friend of families is he, and often when for him they send, they crave but sympathy. "Doctor," one says, "will make the lad see reason quickly, dear." Doctor is asked to soften Dad, or cast out mother's fear. Their joys and sorrows he doth share, for doctor always must be told; he lightens many a heavy care, and this for love, not gold. And he mends broken spirits, too, dispenses cheer and mirth. The every-ready friend and true—the very salt of earth.
MEMORY'S GARDEN
How fortunate are we, blessed with a memory! It is God's gift to all in high estate and small. A storehouse for the keeping of beauty we've been reaping from life's fields, along the way, hour by hour and day by day. Oh Eyes! let nothing pass. The dew-kissed morning grass is a very lovely sight. Then there are stars at night; and a little child at play is a twinkling star for day! Oh Ears! drink in the sounds with which this world abounds. Not music only, no, not this alone. For what more lovely than the throbbing tone of human voice that blends tenderly with voice of friends? Oh Soul! garner most zealously each quiet joy, each ecstasy, each sound, each touch, each sight, whate'er has given delight. Then when the summer days of life draw to a close, from Memory's fair garden—we can pluck a rose.