Читать книгу: «Cradle Songs», страница 3

NINE LITTLE BIRDIES

 
Nine little birdies rocked by the breeze:
First birdie said, “I’m tired of these trees;”
Next birdie said, “Where shall we go?”
Third birdie said, “Where red cherries grow!”
Fourth birdie said, “Are they ripe, do you think?”
Fifth birdie laughed with a rogue’s own wink;
Sixth birdie said, “I’m sure that they are;”
Seventh birdie said, “Is it very far?”
Eighth birdie said, “Who’ll leader be?”
Ninth birdie said, “I’m off, follow me!”
Whew! Whew!
And away they all flew
Into Mr. John Lee’s
Choice cherry trees!
 

WHAT BA-BY DID

 
What do you think the ba-by did?
Why, Ba-by did as he was bid!
 
 
The dar-ling took a pen, and wrote —
A lit-tle in-vi-ta-tion note,
 
 
To all the aunts, and grand-mam-ma,
To un-cles all, and grand-pa-pa,
 
 
To all the ba-by kin ar-ray,
To come to din-ner Christ-mas Day.
 
 
He wrote it ver-y black and plain,
Criss-crossed and marked it all a-gain;
 
 
And though he had not had his nap
He next was seen in cloak and cap,
 
 
And go-ing up the crowd-ed street,
Safe in his hand the mis-sive sweet,
 
 
To drop it in the box him-self,
The aw-ful lit-tle dar-ling elf!
 

TWO KIND LIT-TLE GIRLS

 
Whith-er a-way,
Lit-tle la-dies so gay?
“O, o-ver the hill
To Grand-moth-er Dill!”
And what have you there
In your bas-ket square?
“O, pud-dings and pies,
A lit-tle sur-prise!”
Why such good-will
To Grand-moth-er Dill?
“O, ev-er-y one should
On Christ-mas do good!”
Lit-tle maids, good day!
Flow-ers strew your way!
 

AN APRIL RAIN

 
You poor little birds,
It’s happened again —
In the midst of your play
Down patters the rain.
 
 
You were caught in a shower
Just so last week,
And I thought that morning
I ought to speak;
 
 
I hear you all up
A-singing at dawn,
I know you have tried
Each tree on the lawn,
 
 
Yet not one of you all
Have picked up a straw —
Such improvident birds
I ne’er before saw.
 
 
But I hope you see now
That it would be best
To let your play go
And build you a nest.
 

WHAT THE GRASSES SAID

 
Who can hear the grass talk?
Very few, I know;
Yet it whispers every day,
Sweet and soft and low.
 
 
And one day I heard it;
Shall I tell you when?
I lay on the grass to read,
And I heard it then.
 
 
Everything was pleasant;
Bright the sun did shine;
Dew lay in the flowers’ eyes,
Heavy sleep in mine;
 
 
So I gently shut them;
Soon they opened wide;
For I heard the grasses talk
Fast on every side!
 
 
This is what they talked about:
“Oh, what pleasant weather!
Lift your heads up to the sun,
Nod and wave together!
 
 
“We’re so glad that we are grass,
Cool and soft and green;
Oh, how sad the earth would look
If no grass were seen!
 
 
“And we love the summer warm,
But, oh, dear! oh, dear!
What will little grasses do
When winter cold is here?
 
 
“How the wind will whistle
Round about our heads!
Oh it’s very hard to have
No covers on our beds!”
 
 
Then the wise red-rose bush
Tall, and rough and old,
Shook his head, and kindly said,
“You will not be cold,
 
 
“For God sends a blanket warm
For every blade of grass,
Soft and light, and white as wool;
Not a blade He’ll pass!”
 
 
“What’s the blanket made of?
Quick! we want to know!”
“Why, my dears,” the rose-bush said,
“God’s blanket is the snow.”
 

J. S.