H. P. Nichols

In Bible times so long ago,
    And in a far-off city, too,
A mother watched her only child
    As he in strength and beauty grew.

And when his little tottering feet
    Had scarcely learned to go alone,--
Before his baby voice could speak
    Her name, with a sweet, joyous tone,--

She took her boy and travelled on,
    Away from home, for many a mile,
That with a good and holy man
    Her darling son might live a while;

That he might learn about the God
    Who made the earth and sea and sky;
And then she left him there and turned
    Back to her home, with many a sigh.

She could not place him on her knee
    And tell him he was very dear;
And so she made a little coat
    And brought it to him every year.

But...

"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.

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.

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 ...

The holy Sabbath day has fled;
    And has it been well spent?
Have I remembered what was said,
    And why the day was sent?

May I be better all the week,
    For what to-day has taught;
May I God's love and favor seek,
    And do the things I ought!

'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...

God made the day of rest,
    The holy Sabbath day,
For us to think and talk of Him,
    And not for work or play.

I'll put away my toys
    Safely, the night before;
And Sundays I'll be very still,
    Till Monday comes once more.

And then mamma will say,
    That, though I am so small,
I yet can please the great, good God,
    Who takes care of us all.

I love these Sabbath days,
    Which God to us doth give;
And may I love them more and more,
    Each day and year I live!

"Where are the angels, mother?
    Though you have often said
They watched at night around me,
    And safely kept my bed;

"Though every night I listen
    Their voices low to hear,
Yet I have never heard them,--
    Where are they, mother dear?

"And when the silver moonshine
    Fills all my room with light,
And when the stars are shining,
    So countless and so bright.

"I hope to see them coming,
    With their fair forms, to me;
Yet I have never seen them,--
    Mother, where can they be?

"I saw a cloud, this evening,
    Red with the setting sun;
It was so very lovely,
    I thought it might be one.

"But when it faded slowly,
    I knew it could not be,
For they are always shining;
    Why c...

A rain once fell upon the earth
    For many a day and night,
And hid the flowers, the grass, the trees,
    The birds and beasts, from sight.

The deep waves covered all the land,
    And mountain-tops so high;
And nothing could be seen around,
    But water, and the sky.

But yet there was one moving thing,--
    A still and lonely ark,--
That, many a weary day and night,
    Sailed o'er that ocean dark.

At last, a little dove was forth
    From that lone vessel sent;
But, wearied, to the ark again,
    When evening came, she bent.

Again she went, but soon returned,
    And in her beak was seen
A little twig--an olive-branch--
    With leaves of shining green.

The waters sank, and then the dove
    Flew fr...

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.

"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 ...

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.

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.

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!"

"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.<...

"Don't wash me, pray, mamma, today,"
I once heard little Jennie say,
"For oh! so very hard you rub,
I never want to see my tub."

"O, very well," her mother said;
"I'll put you back again to bed;
And you must in your night-gown stay,
Nor come down stairs at all to-day."

And then I heard Miss Jennie cry,
And beg mamma to let her try;
And say, as she had done before,
That she'd so naughty be no more.

Her mother turned and left her there;
She heard her step upon the stair;
But in her chamber, all day long,
She staid alone, for doing wrong.

She heard her sister jump and run,
And longed to join her in her fun;
Her brother made a snow-man high;
But she upon her bed must lie.

She heard the merry sleigh-bells ring,

"What are the flowers for, mamma,
    That spring up fresh and bright,
And grow on every hill and plain,
    Where'er I turn my sight?

"How do the flowers grow, mamma?
    I've pulled the leaves away,
And tried to see them blossom out,
    On many a summer's day."

"The flowers were made, my little child,
    That when our footsteps trod
Upon the green and pleasant fields,
    We then might think of God.

"We may not see how they do grow,
    And bloom in beauty fair;
We cannot tell how they can spread
    Their small leaves to the air:

"But yet we know that God's kind hand
    Creates these little flowers,
And makes the warm sun shine on them,
    And waters them with showers.

"And so we love to think that He,