COUSIN HATTY'S

God made the bright, round sun;

He made the pretty flowers;

The little birds, the trees, the clouds

The rain that falls in showers.

He made papa, mamma,

And baby brother, too;

And mother says He looks from Heaven,

And sees each thing I do.

Then I must try to be

Pleasant, and sweet, and mild;

For the good God who made me loves

A kind, obedient child.

When I play with little children

I must very gentle be;

I must always do to others

As I'd have them do to me.

I must like to give and lend them,

If they want my prettiest toy;

More than my delight and pleasure

I must love my playmate's joy.

Children who are kind and loving

God above is pleased to see;

Let me ever this remember,

Ever sweet and pleasant be.

Stop, naughty pussy! that's not fair!

Jump down this minute from the chair!

You've eaten my nice slice of bread.

And here are only crumbs instead.

I for a minute left the room

To listen to the "Buy a broom,"

And now I think it's quite too bad

That you my luncheon should have had.

Her mother said, "My dear, if you

Had done what you were told to do,

And put the plate upon the shelf,

You might have had the bread yourself.

"But if you have no thought nor care,

And leave your luncheon on a chair,

You must not blame poor pussy-cat;

She knows no better, dear, than that.

"The one who left her bread about

Upon the chair, while she went out,—

The one who hangs her head for shame,—

My little girl's the one to blame!"

We've the dearest baby sister!

And so small and sweet is she,

That we love to stand beside her,

All her cunning ways to see.

She can talk in baby language,

She can laugh, and she can crow;

She's the pet and she's the darling,

She's the sweetest one we know.

Mother says that she will always

Be a sweet and gentle child,

If, in all our actions towards her,

We are loving, good, and mild.

Let us, then, be kind and pleasant

Ever to our little pet;

Nor to thank the God who gave her,

Morn and night, let us forget.

How glad it makes me feel at night,

When sitting on my mother's knee,

To hear her whisper "You've done right,

And tried my gentle child to be."

But then I feel ashamed and sad

If I've been cross and disobeyed,

Or if my selfish way I've had

When I with other children played.

So if at night I'd call to mind

A day of undisturbed delight,

The only way that I can find

Is to be loving and do right.

I've just looked from the window

To see the snow come down,

And make the streets look nice and white,

That lately were so brown.

I've seen a little beggar-girl

Go by in all the cold;

She had no shoes nor stockings on,

Her dress was torn and old.

How thankful I should be to God,

Who gives me clothes and food,

A nice warm fire, a pleasant home,

And parents kind and good!

Mamma, I'll always try to help

The hungry and the poor;

For those who are not warmed and fed,

I pity, I am sure.

Don't kill the spider, little Fred,

But come and stand by me,

And watch him spin that slender thread,

Which we can hardly see.

How patiently, now up, now down,

He brings that tiny line!

He never stops, but works right on,

And weaves his web so fine.

You could not make a thread so small,

If you should try all day;

So never hurt him, dear, at all,

But spare him in your play.

Come, sister Ellen, get your hat

And come away with me;

My boat, all rigged with mast and sail,

I want you so to see!

Do you upon the landing stand,

While here I'll kneel and blow,

So that the little "Water-witch"

Beneath the arch may go.

There! there! she's off! how fast she goes

Across the river wide!

I'd love to sit in her myself,

And o'er the water glide.

When I'm a man I'll have a boat,

And every sunny day,

We'll take a long and pleasant sail,

Till daylight fades away.

Now, Ellen, stop screaming and running away,

And come here and listen to me;

Is it true, my dear daughter, I want you to say,

That you're foolishly scared by a bee?

The bee is as frightened as you are, my dear,

For he can't tell the way to get out;

And as for his sting, that you never need fear,

If you do not run crying about.

If you were to catch him, why, then, I dare say

You'd soon feel his sharp little sting;

But if you sit still at your work or your play,

Be sure that no harm he will bring.

So wipe off these tears and never again

Give way to so foolish a fright;

For if you indulge it 't will cost you much pain

And no one will want you in sight.

'T is Sunday morning, dear mamma!

I do not wish to play;

Last night I put my dolls and toys

Safe in my box away.

I'll come and sit down by your side,

While you the story tell

Of the good little Joseph, whom

His father loved so well.

And of the time when waters dark

Covered the world around;

And all but Noah in his ark,

Beneath the waves were drowned.

And of the gentle dove, that forth

O'er those wide waters flew,

And twice, with weary wing, returned,

No resting-place in view.

And how the infant Moses, too,

Floated the Nile along;

And how his mother made for him

The basket cradle strong.

Please tell these Bible-stories then,

And take me on your knee,

And I'll sit still, my dear mamma,

And listen quietly.

I love to see the sun go down

Behind the western hill;

I love to see the night come on,

When everything is still.

I love to see the moon and stars

Shine brightly in the sky;

I love to see the rolling clouds

Above my head so high.

I love to see the little flowers

That grow up from the ground;

To hear the wind blow through the trees,

And make a rustling sound.

I love to see the sheep and lambs

So happy in their play;

I love to hear the small birds sing

Sweetly, at close of day.

I love to see them all, because

They are so bright and fair;

And He who made this pleasant world

Will listen to my prayer.

What is Harry thinking of,

Sitting on that mossy stone?

All his brothers are at play;

Why is he so still and lone?

He is musing earnestly;

And the flutterings of the bird

And its pleading, feeble chirp

Fall upon his ear unheard.

Well may little Harry think!

From the pear-tree's withered bough

He has brought the pretty nest,

Placed within his hat-crown now.

That is why he sits alone;

And he hears a voice within,

Louder than the Robin's note,

Crying, "Harry, this is sin!"

Then put back the nest, my boy,

So you will be glad and free,

Nor will hasten by in shame,

When you pass that withered tree.

"How beautiful it is, mamma,

That God should love us all;

That He should listen to their prayer,

When little children call!

"What shall I do for him, mamma?

For He's so kind to me,—

How shall I show my love to Him

Who made bird, flower and tree?"

"The only thing which you can do

Is this, my darling child,

Be always gentle, full of love,

In words and actions mild.

"Thus you will show your love to God

Who is so kind to you;

And you will live with Him at last

In His bright heaven, too."

"Tell me a Sunday story,"

A dear child said to me;

And I bent down and kissed her

And placed her on my knee.

"Once, long ago, in countries

Far, very far away,

Where the cold snow-storm never comes,

And all is bright and gay,

"There lived a king, so cruel,

He gave this stern command,

That all the little children

Must die, throughout the land.

"But still there was one mother

Who kept her baby dear,

And quickly hushed its crying,

In silence and in fear;

"But when she could no longer

Her precious baby hide,

She did not like to throw him

Upon the rushing tide;

"And so a little basket

She made, of rushes stout,

And plastered it with clay and pitch

To keep the water out.

"Then in this basket-cradle

She put the little child;

And quietly he floated down

Among the rushes wild.

"Just then the king's own daughter

Came to the water's edge,

And saw the basket floating

Among the grass and sedge.

"She drew it from the water,

And called the babe her own,

And kept him till to be a man

That little boy had grown.

"And when you read the Bible,—

Which you will learn to do,—

You'll see how great and good he was,

And how God loved him, too."

"I hear the birds sing, mother,

Yet know not what they say;

I've listened to them often

Until they flew away.

"Say if their words, dear mother,

To you are clear and plain,

Or if, like me, you've listened

At morn and night in vain."

"We don't know what they say, dear;

We think they sing their hymn

At early morning sunrise,

Or at the twilight dim.

"When softly sings the mother,

Within her downy nest,

We think she's gently hushing

Her little ones to rest.

"But this remember, darling,

The birds are always kind;

A cross or angry songster

I never yet could find.

"And you may learn a lesson

From their sweet notes of love;

Like them be always gentle,

And please the God above."

"Come to the window, mother!

Look out, and you will see

How fast these little clouds sail on,

Above our old elm tree!

"And tell me, dearest mother,

Are these the sheep of heaven,

That in that land are feeding,

From morning until even?

"How soft and white and shining!

Oh! say, dear mother, there

Is everything so gentle,

So lovely and so fair?"

"We cannot see them, darling,

The sheep of heaven, here;

And far more beautiful than this

Does that bright land appear.

"Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,

Nor tongue of man can tell

The glories of that home above,

Where all the good shall dwell."

The happiest hour of all the day

To me, is always last;

When both my studies and my play,

My walks and work, are past.

When round the bright warm fire we come,

With hearts so light and free,

And all within our happy home

Are talking quietly,

Then, by my dear, kind father's side

I sit, or on his knee,

And then I tell him I have tried

His gentle girl to be.

And then he says the little child

Is loved by every one,

Who has a temper sweet and mild

And smiling as the sun.

Let me do always as I should,

Nor vex my father dear;

And let me be as glad and good

As he would have me here.

"My little Edward, how could you

Tell me a thing that was not true?

And make me feel thus grieved and sad

To find I have a child so bad?

"And then, to do a deed so mean,

And wish by that yourself to screen!

Would you have had me blame poor Tray,

And send him from the fire away?

"O! never, when you've disobeyed,

Or by your mischief trouble made,

Think that a wicked act is right

Because you hide it from my sight.

"It will be always seen by One,

Who knows each wrong that you have done;

And I shall know it too, no doubt,

For sin must always find you out.

"I cannot let you here to-day

With me and little sisters stay;

But you must go up stairs alone,

Till you a better boy have grown."

"Come hither, little brothers,

And listen now to me,

And I will read a story

To both, while at my knee."

Then Johnnie's flag hung idly,

And Charlie hushed his drum;

To hear sweet Mary's story

The mimic soldiers come.

"'Tis of a boy no larger,

My little Charles, than you;

But he had been in battle,

And all its terrors knew.

"His father was a captain;

He had no child beside;

And while he was an infant

His mother dear had died.

"And so from camp to battle,

From fight to camp again,

Had lived, this little hero,

On many a bloody plain.

"One day, when shouts were loudest

Upon the reddened field,—

When came the victor's war-cry,

'See! see! they fly! they yield!'—

"Forth then, to seek his father,

He went with eager joy;

But with a chance ball wounded,

Low lay the fearless boy!

"The son of a brave chieftain,

He made no sigh or groan;

His father's hand yet tighter

He clasped within his own!

"And so, when strife was ended,

No more to be begun,

In conquest's very moment

Thus fell the chieftain's son."

Then John took out his feather,

And put his flag away;

And Charlie's drum was silent

Until another day.

Twas morning, and the pleasant light

Shone on the hills, the trees, the flowers,

And made a far-off country bright,

A lovely land, but not like ours.

A mother led her little child

Forth from his father's door away;

And with the flowers he played, and smiled

As beautiful and bright as they.

But when, at noon, the warm sun beat

Upon the sweet boy's forehead fair,

Tired and thirsty from the heat,

He asked in vain for water there.

The bottle, filled with water clear

At early day, was empty now;

The mother laid her child so dear

Beneath an old tree's spreading bough.

She turned away, and heard the sound

Of water, gushing like the rain;

She raised her boy from off the ground,

He drank, and played and smiled again.

They travelled on for many a day,

The mother and her little child;

And found a home, far, far away,

At last, among the deserts wild.

The bird within its nest

Has sung its evening hymn,

And I must go to quiet rest,

As the bright west grows dim.

I see the twinkling star,

That, when the sun has gone,

Is shining out the first afar,

To tell us day is done.

If on this day I've been

A selfish, naughty child,

May God forgive the wrong I've done,

And make me kind and mild.

May he still bless and keep

My father, mother dear;

And may the eye that cannot sleep

Watch o'er our pillows here,

And guard us from all ill,

Through this long, silent night,

And bring us, by His holy will,

To see the morning light.

Spring has come, dear mother!

I've a violet found,

Growing in its beauty

From the cold, dark ground.

You are sad, dear mother,

Tears are in your eye;

You're not glad to see it;

Mother, tell me why?

I remember.—Last year,

Where our Willie lies,

Grew the earliest violet,

Blue as were his eyes.

Then you told me, mother,

That the flowers would fade,

And their withered blossoms

On the earth be laid.

But you said, as springtime

Would their buds restore,

Willie would in heaven

Be forevermore.

Weep no more, dear mother!

Violets are in bloom;

And your darling Willie

Lives beyond the tomb.

"Little children, when rejoicing

In the merry Christmas morn,

'Mid your sports remember ever

'Tis the day that Christ was born.

"When on earth, the blessed Saviour

Said, 'Let children come to me,'

And the little ones he folded

In his arms, how tenderly!"

"But the Saviour is in heaven,

And we cannot see him now;

We cannot receive his blessing,

In his presence cannot bow."

"Listen. In the holy Bible,

Jesus Christ tells every child

That the way to gain his blessing

Is by being good and mild."

"Here on earth you may not see him;

But when this short life is done,

You shall live with him forever

Where there is no setting sun."

"So remember, Christmas morning,

That on earth the Saviour came;

And that still he guards and blesses

Every child who loves his name."

"O George! how large your bubble is!

Its colors, too, how bright!

Just like the rainbow that we saw

On high, the other night.

"Now throw it off, and let it float

Like fairies in the air!

It's broken, Georgie; never mind,

But blow another there."

Their mother, just within the door,

Smiled at their childish play,—

A smile, but yet a thoughtful one,

That seemed these words to say:

"My little Georgie, bubbles burst,

And are but empty air;

I would that you might love the things

That last forever fair.

"And ever may my darling Kate

A trusting spirit bear,

And, when one cherished hope has fled,

Yet find another there."

I am coming, I am coming,

With my carpet soft and green;

I have spread it o'er the common,

And a prettier ne'er was seen.

Soon I'll spangle it with clover,

And the dandelions bright;

You shall pick them in your aprons,

Yellow, red, and snowy white.

I am coming, and the tree-tops,

That all winter were so bare,

You shall see, with small leaves covered,

Wave their branches in the air.

I am coming! Little children,

Can you tell me who am I?

If not, you will soon remember,

For I'm just now passing by.

Tis Summer, I know by the blue of the sky;

By the trees' deeper green, as beneath them I lie;

And more than all these, by the lovely wild rose

That now in the woodland its pink blossom shows.

Now ring the sharp scythes of the mowers all day,

And they spread to the air the sweet-scented hay;

They pile up the wagon ere daylight is done,

And singing come home with the set of the sun.

I feel the warm west wind fan gently my cheek

As I sit on the grass, far too happy to speak;

And then in the twilight I see the faint spark

Of the fire-fly, flitting alone in the dark.

Oh! long happy days, when 'tis full of delight

To roam in the meadows from morning till night!

Oh! summer, sweet summer! glide slowly away,

For I love in your warmth and your fragrance to stay.

Here's the purple aster,

And the golden-rod,

And the blue fringed gentian,

By the meadow sod.

And the scarlet cardinal

Grows beside the brook,

And the yellow sunflower

In some sheltered nook.

Maple boughs are covered

With their foliage red,

And the withered elm leaves

On the ground lie dead.

And within the orchard,

Heavy-laden trees

Shower down the apples,

With each passing breeze.

So by these we know thee,

Lovely autumn time,

With thy deep blue heavens,

And thy snowy rime.

And we gladly greet thee,

With thy colors gay,

Though thou tell'st us summer

Hence hath fled away.

With my breath so keen and chilling,

I have stripped the branches bare;

And my snow-flakes white are filling,

Feather-like, the frosty air.

Coming o'er the lofty mountains,

There I left a robe of white;

I have locked the sparkling fountains,

I have chained the river bright.

O'er the quiet valley winging,

There I left my traces, too;

Hark! the merry sleigh-bells ringing,

With their music call on you.

I have come! The school-boy shouting,

Joyfully brings out his sled;

He has seen me, nothing doubting,

As across the fields he sped.

I have come; but shall I find you

Better than the former year?

If you've cast your faults behind you,

I shall gladly greet you here.

Give us this day our daily bread;

Oh! children, when you pray,

And morn and night repeat these words,

Think what it is you say.

You never asked a piece of bread,

And had that wish denied;

For food to eat, and some to spare,

Has always been supplied.

But o'er the ocean, many a cheek

With want grows thin and pale;

And many suffer like the boy

Of whom I tell this tale.

He lay upon some scattered straw,—

His strength was almost gone,—

And, in a feeble voice, he cried,

"Give me three grains of corn!"

Three grains from out his jacket torn,

His trembling mother drew,

'Twas all she had—she gave them him,

Though she was starving too!

Be very grateful, children, then,

For all that you enjoy;

Remembering, as you say those words,

The little Irish boy.

Of the childhood of our Saviour

Tells one simple verse alone;

Yet from that his whole behavior

When he was a child, is known.

He was subject to his mother,

So the holy Scriptures say;

'Tis enough, we need no other

Record of him day by day.

Thus we, his obedience knowing,

Know how gentle and how mild,—

How in truth and goodness growing

Was our Saviour from a child.

Little children, who endeavor

Like the blessed One to be,

As you try, remember ever

How obedient was he.

If, like Jesus pure and holy,

You your parents' will obey,

You will grow more meek and lowly,

And more like him, every day.

Silence! stir not! for a whisper

Would affright thy pretty prey;

Not a motion, little lisper,

Else the fish will glide away.

Hush! he's coming! he is swimming

Slowly round and round the bait;

Steady! though thine eye is brimming

Full of mirth that will not wait.

And thy brother near thee kneeling

Fears to hear thy ringing shout;

Gently! near and nearer stealing

Comes the brightly spotted trout.

There! thy hook has caught him surely;

Firmly hold thy slender rod;

Pull away! and then securely

Place him on the grassy sod.

'Neath the green boughs rustling o'er you,

Fish away the livelong day;

And with evening's star before you,

Wander home at twilight gray.

"What is the rainbow, mother dear,

With many-colored light?

Have the clouds parted just to show

The floor of heaven so bright?

"Or is it wings of angels pure

That touch along the sky?

And do they come that we may see

How fair is all on high?

"Or, mother, on that shining arch

Do spirits rise above?

And on that bended bow ascend

Where all is light and love?

"How beautiful must be that road!

Why should we call those back,

Who travel to the better land

On such a sunny track?

"Why did you weep when brother died?

Did you not know that he

On that delightful path must tread,

Ere he in heaven could be?"

"My dearest child, we cannot know,

Or trace the spirit's flight,

For sin and sorrow draw their veil

Across our mortal sight.

"If—as the rainbow takes its hues

Of beauty from the sun—

We strive to live like Christ our Lord,

The meek and holy One,—

"Then shall we dwell in Heaven's clear day,

Which knows nor night nor moon,

For, ever, from the Father's throne

Beams high and cloudless noon."

Awake! awake! the dusky night

Is fading from the sky;

Awake! and with the early light

To pleasant fields we'll hie.

Come with me, and I will show

Where the fragrant wild-flowers grow;

We will weave a garland gay

For our smiling Queen of May.

The sun peeps up behind the hills,

And hark! the morning song

Of little birds the fresh air fills,

As now we skip along.

By the brook-side cold and wet,

Blooms the pale, white violet;

There's the purple blossom, too,

Nodding with its weight of dew.

The gentle wind just lifts the head

Of many a columbine;

And, taken from their rocky bed,

They in our wreaths shall twine.

Saxifrage, so small and sweet,

Grows in plenty at our feet;

From the grass we gather up,

Golden bright, the buttercup.

Now for the trailing evergreen,

That in the woodland springs,

And we will crown our May-day queen

With buds this fair month brings.

Merriest of all the year

Is the day we welcome here;

We will sing and dance away,

In our glee, this long May-day.

"I was walking, dearest mother,

This morning, by the brook,

And tired at last I rested me

Within a shady nook.

"There all was still and lonely,

And suddenly I heard

A little voice,—a sweeter one

Than note of any bird.

"I looked above, around me,

I saw not whence it came;

And yet that tone of music

Was calling me by name.

"The violet beside me

Bloomed with its purple cup,

And a tiny face, so lovely,

Amidst its leaves peeped up.

"Again the silver music,—

The voice I loved to hear,—

Upon its sweet breath floated,

And bade me not to fear.

"'I am the elf,' it whispered,

'Who in the violet dwells,

And every blossom hides one

Within its fragrant cells.

"'If you will list our teaching,

And catch our faintest tone,

Your heart will be as spotless,

As loving as our own.'

"And then, as I was gazing,

It vanished from my sight;

Once more the violet nodded,

And sought the sunshine bright."

"My darling child, the elfins

That live within the flowers

Sweet sounds are ever breathing,

To glad this world of ours.

"Well may we weep and sorrow,

If they are silent all;

Then are our souls too sinful

To heed their spirit call.

"The pure in heart alone can hear

Those precious words and low;

And by their lessons purer yet

Throughout their lives shall grow."

A new-born babe was sleeping

Within its cradle fair,

And angel guards were keeping

Its peaceful slumbers there.

Gone was the age of fairies,

And of the elfins wild,

Who, hovering o'er the infant's couch,

Were wont to bless the child.

But in a distant city,

Fays that still glad the earth,

Four gentle little children,

Hailed with delight his birth.

Out spake the eldest sister,

"O, let us fairies play,

And give to our young brother

Some precious gift to-day.

"Sit down around the fireside,

And I my gift will tell."

And the little children sat them down

The fancy pleased them well.

Again thus spake the eldest,

"I 'll give him beauty rare;

His eyes shall be as diamonds bright,

His brow like marble fair.

"He shall have golden ringlets,

His cheeks shall mock the rose;

And he shall be the loveliest

Where'er his light form goes."

The next replied, "Oh! sister,

Not such a gift is mine;

For beauty's charms, though lovely,

Must perish and decline.

"I'll give him wit and talents;

In manhood he shall stand

Among the gifted and the wise,

That bless our native land."

"I'll give him sweet good-temper,"

Said the third loving child;

"He shall make glad our happy home

By actions kind and mild."

The youngest raised her wondering eyes,

And said, in accents low,

"I thought the gift I chose would be

The first that you 'd bestow.

"I'll give our little brother

Obedience to-day,

And he shall mind, with cheerfulness,

All that our parents say."

Oh! blessed is the childish heart,

In life's first opening dawn,

For all its high and holy thoughts

From heavenly founts are drawn.

May our most valued blessings be

Obedience and love!

Our hearts, like that sweet sister's, full

Of teachings from above!

"Once songs as lullabies to thee I sung,

To sleep hath sung thee now an angel's tongue."

From the German of Ruckert.

A lovely babe was lying

Upon its mother's breast;

And she, with soft, low music.

Was hushing it to rest.

The song was sweet and gentle,

And loving in its tone;

And in its touching tenderness

A mother's love was shown.

And still it floated onward,

With melody so deep,

Till closed the dark-fringed eyelids,

The baby was asleep.

And still beside his cradle

She sang the same low hymn,

Till he smiled, as he was sleeping,

At angel fancies dim.

Years passed.—The helpless infant

Was now a happy boy;

And often rang his laughter,

In notes of heartfelt joy.

Upon his mother's bosom

I saw the child again;

And his little head was drooping

In weakness and in pain.

Back from his marble forehead

The hair streamed, golden bright;

But yet his dark eye sparkled

With more than mortal light.

And suddenly he whispered,

"What music sweet I hear!

'Tis not the song you used to sing

At night, O mother dear!

"But sweeter far, and softer,

Than notes you ever sung;

It is as if a silver bell

Its pleasant chimings rung.

"It tells of rest, dear mother,

Of slumber calm and deep;

And I am worn and weary,

And fain 'would sink to sleep.

"Darkness is closing round me—

You're fading from my sight—

I hear it still!--dear mother,

Kiss me once more—good-night!"

He slept; but angel voices

Had sung his lullaby;

And sweet shall be his waking

In our Father's home on high!