O hear the chickens pip,
They will no longer keep
Under their mother's wing;
And shall I run and catch them?
O no, I must not touch them,
'T would be a cruel thing.
She cannot get away,
She wishes them to stay
Within the little coop:
I wish that they were kinder,
And not so slow to mind her,
So swift away to hop.
Poor hen, she walks about,
And struggles to get out,
She feels so very sad:
I wish that ev'ry chicken
Would stop its merry pippin',
And run to make her glad.
I'll never run away,
Or stop to laugh and play,
When mother calls me home:
I'll quickly run to meet her,
With kindest kisses greet her,
Soon as she bids me come.
CHERRIES ARE RIPE.
[[Listen]]
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
O, give the baby one;
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But baby shall have none:
Babies are too young to choose;
Cherries are too sour to use;
But by and by,
Made in a pie,
No one will them refuse.
Up in the tree
Robin I see,
Picking one by one;
Shaking his bill,
Getting his fill,
Down his throat they run:
Robins want no cherry pie,
Quick they eat and off they fly.
My little child,
Patient and mild,
Surely will not cry.