TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are,
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Then the traveller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark;
He could not see which way
to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
While you through my curtains peep,
And you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
When I look up to yonder sky
So pure, so bright, so wondrous high,
I think of one I cannot see,
But one who sees and cares for me.
His name is God, he gave me birth,
And every living thing on earth;
And every tree and plant that grows
To the same hand its being owes.
"Tis he my daily food provides,
And all that I require besides :
And when I close my slumbering eye,
I sleep in peace, for he is nigh.
Then surely I should ever love
This gracious God, who reigns above;
For very good indeed is he
To love a little child like me!
ALL THINGS PRAISE GOD.
How cheerful along the gay mead
The daisy and cowslips appear;
The flocks, as they carelessly feed,
Rejoice in the spring of the year.
The myrtles that shade the gay bowers,
The herbage that springs from the sod,
Trees, plants, cooling fruits and sweet flowers,
All rise to the praise of their God.
Shall man, the great master of all,
The only insensible prove?
Forbid it fair gratitude's call,
Forbid it devotion and love.
The Lord who such wonders can raise,
And still can destroy with a nod,
My lips shall incessantly praise,
My heart shall rejoice in my God.
THE YOUNG FARM LABOURER.
I'm a little husbandman,
Work and labour hard I can ;
I'm as happy all the day
At my work, as if 'twere play.
Tho' I've nothing fine to wear,
Yet for that I do not care.
When to work I go along,
Singing loud my morning song,
With my wallet at my back,
Or my waggon whip to smack;
O, I am as happy then,
As the idle gentleman.
I've a hearty appetite,
And I soundly sleep at night,
Down I lie content, and say,
I've been useful all the day:
I'd rather be a ploughboy than
A useless little gentleman.
INFANT SCHOOL.
THE BUSY BEE.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour;
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower.
How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads her wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill,
I would be busy too ;
For idle hands will always find
Some mischief still to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be past;
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
So, so, you are running away Mr. Fly,
But I'll come at you now, if you don't go
There, there, I have caught you,-you can't get away:
Never mind, my old fellow, I'm only in play.
O Charles! cruel Charles! you have killed the poor fly,
You have pinch'd him so hard, he is going to die,
His legs are all broken, and he cannot stand;
There, now he has fallen down dead in your
I hope you are sorry for what you have done,
You may kill many flies but you cannot make one,
No, you can't set it up-as I told you before,
It is dead, and it never will stand any more.
Poor thing! as it buzz'd up and down on the glass,
How little it thought what was coming to pass!
For it could not have guess'd, as it frisk'd in the sun,
That a child would destroy it for nothing but fun.
The spider who weaves his fine cobweb so neat,
Might have caught him, indeed, for he wants him to eat ;
But the poor fly must learn to keep out of your way,
As you kill them for nothing at all but your play.
Hop about, pretty.sparrows, and pick up the hay, And the twigs, and the wool, and the moss; Indeed, I'll stand far enough out of your way, Don't fly from the window, so cross.
I don't mean to catch you, my dear little Dick, And fasten you up in a cage;
To hop all day long on a straight bit of stick, Or to flutter about in a rage.
I only just want to stand by you and see How you gather the twigs for your house; Or sit at the foot of the jenneting tree,
While you twitter a song in the boughs.
O! dear, if you'd eat a crumb out of my hand,
How happy and glad should I be ;
Then come, pretty bird, while I quietly stand
At the foot of the jenneting tree.
A CHILD'S EVENING THOUGHTS.
All the little flowers I see
Their tiny eyes are closing;
The birds are roosting on the tree;
The lambkins are reposing.
And I through all the quiet night
Shall sleep the hours away,
That I may waken fresh and bright,
To live another day.
And well I know whose lips will smile
And pray for me and bless me;
And talk to me so kindly while
Her gentle hands undress me.
She'll tell me there is one above,
Upon a glorious throne,
Who loves me with a tender love,
More tender than her own.
|