eyes.
Isaac Watts.
Little Things.
| Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land.Thus the little minutes, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. |
Ebenezer Cobham Brewer.
He Prayeth Best.
These two stanzas, the very heart of that great poem, "The Ancient Mariner," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834), sum up the lesson of this masterpiece—"Insensibility is a crime."
| Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small: For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. |
Samuel T. Coleridge.
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.When the glorious sun is set, When the grass with dew is wet, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle all the night.In the dark-blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye, Till the sun is in the sky.As your bright and tiny spark Guides the traveller in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star! |
Pippa.
"Spring's at the Morn," from "Pippa Passes," by Robert Browning (1812–89), has become a very popular stanza with little folks. "All's right with the world" is a cheerful motto for the nursery and schoolroom.
| The year's at the spring, The day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew pearled;The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in His heaven— All's right with the world! |
Robert Browning.
The Days of the Month.
"The Days of the Month" is a useful bit of doggerel that we need all through life. It is anonymous.
| Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; February has twenty-eight alone. All the rest have thirty-one, Excepting leap-year—that's the time When February's days are twenty-nine. |
Old Song.
True Royalty.
"True Royalty" and "Playing Robinson Crusoe" are pleasing stanzas from "The Just So Stories" of Rudyard Kipling (1865-).
| There was never a Queen like Balkis, From here to the wide world's end; But Balkis talked to a butterfly As you would talk to a friend.There was never a King like Solomon, Not since the world began; But Solomon talked to a butterfly As a man would talk to a man.She was Queen of Sabaea— And he was Asia's Lord— But they both of 'em talked to butterflies When they took their walks abroad. |
Rudyard Kipling.
(In "The Just So Stories.")
Playing Robinson Crusoe.
| Pussy can sit by the fire and sing, Pussy can climb a tree, Or play with a silly old cork and string To 'muse herself, not me. But I like Binkie, my dog, because He knows how to behave; So, Binkie's the same as the First Friend was, And I am the Man in the Cave.Pussy will play Man-Friday till It's time to wet her paw And make her walk on the window-sill (For the footprint Crusoe saw); Then she fluffles her tail and mews, And scratches and won't attend. But Binkie will play whatever I choose, And he is my true First Friend.Pussy will rub my knees with her head, Pretending she loves me hard; But the very minute I go to my bed Pussy runs out in the yard.And there she stays till the morning light; So I know it is only pretend; But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night, And he is my Firstest Friend! |
Rudyard Kipling.
(In "The Just So Stories.")
My Shadow.
"My Shadow," by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–94), is one of the most popular short poems extant. I have taught it to a great many very young boys, and not one has ever tried to evade learning it. Older pupils like it equally well.
| I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward, you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. |
Robert Louis Stevenson.
Little White Lily.
This poem (George Macdonald, 1828-) finds a place in this volume because, as a child, I loved it. It completely filled my heart, and has made every member of the lily family dear to me. George Macdonald's charming book, "At the Back of the North Wind," also was my wonder and delight.
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Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily Sunshine has fed; Little White Lily Is lifting her head.Little White Lily Said: "It is good Little White Lily's Clothing and food." Little White Lily Dressed like a bride! Shining with
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