I have seen you, little mouse,
Running all about the house,
Through the hole your little eye
Peeping stealthily I spy.
Soon you hope some crumbs to steal,
To make up your evening meal;
Look before you venture out,
See if pussy is about.
If she's gone you'll quickly run
To the larder full of fun,
Round about the dishes creep,
Taking into each a peep.
In preserves your tail is whisking,
Now thro' jellies you are frisking;
In the sauce your nose you've dipp'd,
Into soup too you have skipp'd.
Come, I'm sure you've had enough
Of such rich unwholesome stuff;
Though you've had so much to eat,
You mayn't again have such a treat;
For I see pussy peeping thro'
The window-oh, she looks at you,
Now she's leapt in-fly! mousey fly!
If she should catch you, you must die.
Puss, I fear, runs fastest too;
What will now poor mousey do?
Now he's slackening in his flight,
Now he's panting with affright,
Now he makes one effort more
To reach his hole across the floor;
There he has arrived at last,
And reflects thus on the past:
In future here I will remain,
Nor yield to flattery again,
For sweeter is the meanest fare
Eaten without alarm or care.
THE BEGGAR MAN.
Around the fire one wintry night,
The farmer's rosy children sat;
The faggot lent its blazing light,
And jokes went round and careless chat.
When hark! a gentle hand they hear
Low tapping at the bolted door;
And thus to gain their willing ear,
A feeble voice was heard t' implore:
'Cold blows the blast across the moor;
The sleet drives hissing in the wind;
Yon toilsome mountain lies before:
A dreary treeless waste behind.
'My eyes are weak and dim with age;
No road, no path, can I descry;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.
'So faint I am-these tottering feet
No more my feeble frame can bear;
My sinking heart forgets to beat,
And drifting snows my tomb prepare.
'Open your hospitable door,
And shield me from the biting blast; Cold, cold it blows across the moor, The weary moor that I have pass'd.' With hasty steps the farmer ran,
And close beside the fire they place The poor half-frozen beggar man, With shaking limbs and pallid face. The little children flocking came,
And warmed his stiff ning hands in theirs, And busily the good old dame
A comfortable mess prepares.
Their kindness cheered his drooping soul;
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek
The big round tears were seen to roll,
And told the thanks he could not speak.
The children, too, began to sigh,
And all their merry chat was o'er,
And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad than they had done before.
THE SNOWDROP.
Welcome! snowdrop, pretty thing,
Welcome! harbinger of spring;
When snow and ice melt fast
Touched by the warm sun's cheering ray,
Thou peepest forth thy little head
From the brown earth, thy cold moist bed; Earliest visitant of spring,
How welcome is the news you bring!
Will God, who made the earth and sea,
The night and shining day,
Regard young children such as we,
And listen when we pray?
Yes! in his holy word we read
Of his unfailing love;
And when his mercy most we need
His mercy he will prove.
To those who seek Him, He is near;
He looks upon the heart;
And from the humble and sincere
He never will depart.
He sees our thoughts, our wishes knows;
He hears our faintest
Where'er the faithful Christian goes,
He finds his Father there.
Obedient children need not fear;
God is a faithful friend;
And when no other help is near,
He will deliverance send.
Then let us fear no want, nor pain,
But fear to disobey
That power which does our life sustain, And guards us every day.
TO A ROBIN REDBREAST.
Little bird, with bosom red,
Welcome to my humble shed.
Daily near my table steal,
While I pick my scanty meal.
Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee,
Well rewarded if I spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye.
See thee, when thou'st ate thy fill,
Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill.
Come, my feather'd friend, again,
Well thou know'st the broken pane :
Ask of me thy daily store,
Ever welcome to my door.
The darkness is over, the sun is on high,
The lark is up singing his song in the sky;
The cattle and labourers all are abroad,
And every thing serving and praising its God.
I will not lie sleeping my morning away,
But try to be busy and useful as they;
I'll rise with the skylark and join in his 'song,
And thank God for watching me all the night long.
How kind he is to me, how great, and how good.
I wish I could serve him as well as I should;
Lord help me then daily my duty to know,
And may I do better the older I
Pretty bee, pray tell me why
Thus from flower to flower you fly,
Culling sweets through all the day,
Never leaving off to play?
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