“I will never, never tell.
They may tie a ding-dong-bell
To my little tail so waggy,
Singe my ears and coat so shaggy.
“They may drown me in the well,
All because I will not tell.”
That will do, you grim old Quaker!
I can trust you Pepper Baker.
Mary R. Whittlesey.
SILVER AND GOLD.
SILVER or golden, which is the best—
Which with God’s love is most richly blest?
Which is the fairer I cannot tell,
Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.
The soft twilight hour, when shadows fall,
To little Bel seems the best of all;
Then grandfather lays aside his book;
He cannot resist the pleading look.
There’s room for two in the great arm-chair;
His arms enfold her with loving care;
Upturned is a smiling, rosy face;
Two dimpled arms have found their place.
Sweet eyes of hazel, so clear and bright,
Look up with a happy, loving light;
The curls are golden that softly stray,
While breezes amid their sunshine play.
Little she dreams of sorrow and care;
Life is unknown, and to her seems fair.
As years roll by the face may grow old;
But the loving heart will never grow cold.