I would call to the stars
To keep out of the way,

Lest we should rock over their toes;
And then I would rock

Till the dawn of the day,

And see where the pretty moon goes.

And there we would stay

In the beautiful skies,

And through the bright clouds we would roam;

We would see the sun set,

And see the sun rise,

And on the next rainbow come home.

-Mrs. Eliza Follen.

XII.-RAIN-DROPS.

PLUMP little Baby-clouds,

Dimpled and soft,

Rock in their air-cradles

Swinging aloft.

Great, snowy Mother-clouds,
Broad bosoms white,

Watch o'er the Baby-clouds
Slumbering light.

Tired little Baby-clouds
Dreaming of fears,
Turn in their air-cradles,
Dropping soft tears.

Great, brooding Mother clouds
Watching o'er all,

Let their warm mother tears
Tenderly fall.

XIII.

I LOVE to see the little birds

When in the fields I rove,

And hear them sing their merry songs, When sitting in the grove.

The little birds are very good;
As kind as they can be:

They often come when I am sad,

And sweetly sing to me.

And when I hear their happy songs,

My sorrow flies away:

I wish I had a little bird

To sing to me all day.

Though I am but a little child,
Quite young and very small,
I love the happy, merry birds—
Oh yes, I love them all.

XIV. THE SNOW.

LITTLE white feathers filling the air,

Little white feathers, how came ye there? "We came from the cloud-birds sailing so high,— They're shaking their white wings up in the sky!"

Little white feathers, how swift you go!

Little white feathers, I love you so!

"We're swift because we have work to do; Now hold up your face, and we'll kiss you true."

XV.

SUPPOSE, my little lady,

Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?
And would n't it be pleasanter

To treat it as a joke;

And say you're glad, "Twas Dolly's
And not your head that broke?"

Suppose you're dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down,
Will it clear off any sooner

Because you scold and frown?
And would n't it be nicer

For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?

Suppose your task, my little man,
Is very hard to get,

Will it make it any easier

For you to sit and fret?
And would n't it be wiser,
Than waiting like a dunce,

To go to work in earnest,
And learn the thing at once?

-Phabe Cary.

XVI. KATYDID.

Oн, what did Katy do?

Pray tell me true;

For oft at twilight hour,

In woodland bower,

These simple words I hear,

Strong and clear,

"Katy did! She did! She did!"

From something in the branches hid.

Was Katy young and fair?
Of beauty rare ?

Or wrinkled, old, and gray?

Who can say?

Some deed of love did she?

Or charity?

Or was it else some act forbid,

That "Katy did! she did! she did?"

XVII.

How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!

How skillfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads her wax!
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.

In books, or work, or healthful play
Let my first years be past,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.

-Isaac Watts.