Study First.

No, Robbie! you can go away;
I am not ready yet to play;
For I must learn these words to spell,
That I may say my lesson well.

How sad our dear mamma would look,
To find that I had left my book!
And if I disobeyed her so,
My play would not be gay, I know.

I'll learn my lesson very soon,
And then I'll run with you till noon;
So, Robbie, you can go away,
And presently I'll come and play.

H. P. Nichols

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H. P. Nichols

The Monkey.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Anger.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Sunday Night.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Pidgin

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Play.

Play, play, while as yet it is day:
While the sweet sunlight is warm on the brae!
Hark to the lark singing lay upon lay,
While the brown squirrel eats nuts on the spray
And in the apple-leaves chatters the jay!
Play, play, even as they!
What though the cowslips ye pluck will decay,
What though the grass will be presently hay?
What though the noise that ye make should dismay
Old Mrs. Clutterbuck over the way?
Play, play, for your locks will grow gray;
Even the marbles ye sport with are clay.

Play, ay in the crowded highway:
Was it not made for you? Yea, my lad, yea.
True that the babes you were bid to convey
Home may fall out or be stolen or stray;
True that the tip-cat you toss about may
Strike an old gentleman, cause him to sway,
Stumble, and ...

Charles Stuart Calverley

Sunday.

'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...

H. P. Nichols

The Runaway Boy

Wunst I sassed my Pa, an' he
Won't stand that, an' punished me, -
Nen when he was gone that day,
I slipped out an' runned away.

I tooked all my copper-cents,
An' clumbed over our back fence
In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed
Ever'where all down the road.

Nen I got out there, an' nen
I runned some - an' runned again
When I met a man 'at led
A big cow 'at shooked her head.

I went down a long, long lane
Where was little pigs a-play'n';
An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"
An' jumped up, an' skeered me too.

Nen I scampered past, an' they
Was somebody hollered "Hey!"
An' I ist looked ever'where,
An' they was nobody there.

I Want to, but I'm 'fraid to try
To go back.... An' by-an'-by
Somepin' hurts my throa...

James Whitcomb Riley

Nursery Rhyme. LII. Tales.

                My dear, do you know,
                How a long time ago,
                    Two poor little children,
                Whose names I don't know,
    Were stolen away on a fine summer's day,
    And left in a wood, as I've heard people say.

                And when it was night,
                So sad was their plight,
                    The sun it went down,
                And the moon gave no light!
    They sobb'd and they sigh'd, and they bitterly cried,
    And the poor little things, they lay down and died.

                And when they were dead,
                The Robins so red
                    Brought strawberry leaves,
                And over them spread;
                    And all the day long,
             ...

Unknown

Evening Hymn.

Now the sun hath gone to rest,
Stars are coming faint and dim,
And the bird within his nest
Sweetly sings his evening hymn.

Have I tried mamma to mind?
Was I gentle in my play?
Have I been a true and kind,
Pleasant little girl to-day?

Then will God take care of me
Kindly, through the long dark night;
Bright and happy, I shall see
Once again the morning light.

H. P. Nichols

Spring.

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.

H. P. Nichols