Chapter 6

For when you once have done a Wrong, The Right receives a blow,-- And Wrong will triumph easier now, So haste and answer, No.

There's many a little boy and girl, And man and woman too, Have gone to ruin and to death For want of saying, No!

So, young or old, or great or small, Don't fail, whate'er you do, To stand for Right and nobly dare To speak an honest No.

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_ASK MOTHER._

Yes, my darling, when you question, I will answer, simple, plain, Just the Truth;--and when playmate Tells you anything again, Come to Mother, she will tell you, Yes, and tell you always true, For she knows what's low and sinful, And what's right and wrong for you.

_TELL MOTHER._

'Tis wrong, my dear, to do a thing That mother must not know; And when your playmates, old or young, Shall tell you thus to do, Leave them at once, and quickly come To your dear Mother's side, And tell her,--for she'll know what's wrong, And she will be your guide.

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_DON'T TELL A LIE._

Don't tell a lie, dear children, No matter what you do,-- {292} Own up and be a hero, Right honest, brave, and true.

You'd better have a whipping Each day than tell a lie,-- No, not a "white one," even, They lead to blackest dye.

The rod but hurts your body, While lies deform your soul;-- Don't mind the present smarting, Keep the spirit pure and whole.

But I am sure that mamma And papa, too, will try To help you children tell the Truth, Nor drive you to a lie.

They will not punish harshly, Nor when they're angry, quite; Nor promise, and then fail to do,-- But always lead you right.

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_LITTLE MOSES._

In the Talmud you will find it,-- In the quaint and curious lore Of the ancient priests, or Rabbins, Whom the people bowed before;

Find the story of an infant Sitting on the kingly knee; "Little Moses," Pharaoh calls him,-- Crowing loud in baby glee.

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And the banqueters were cheering, When the infant with a spring, Reached and caught the crown that rested Upon Pharaoh's head, as king.

Caught the crown, and quickly placed it On his own unwitting head; But the king and all his princes, In the deed a meaning read.

Then spake Balaam, the magician, "Not because the child is young, Hath he done this thing unknowing;-- He hath mocked thee, he hath flung

"In thy face thy kindly dealings; Such hath ever been the way Of his people; a usurper-- Let his blood be spilled this day."

But the winsome baby-fingers Toying with the kingly beard, Won the edict: "Call the judges; Let their counselings be heard."

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So the judges and the wise men Came with Jethro, Midian's priest, Who, with wish to save young Moses, Thus his majesty addressed:

"If it to the king be pleasing, Fetch two plates, and we will hold Them before the babe, a-brimming, One with fire, and one with gold.

"If the child shall grasp the golden, He hath done this knowingly; He will trample on thy statutes; For thine honor he must die.

"But if he shall grasp the other, Know, O King, he knoweth nought Of a royal crown or scepter,-- And his life with fire is bought."

These wise words, the king approving, Plate of fire and plate of gold, Courtiers brought, and screams of anguish, Soon the childish choosing told.

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For he, baby-like, had thrust it In his mouth; and though he flung Quick the coal, he ever after Spake with slow and stammering tongue.

[Footnote: Exodus IV:10]

* * * * *

Charming 'tis to see Children who agree; Chaste, and choice, and cheery, Chiming in so merry, Childlike, ever; Churlish, never. Championing the good; Challenging the rude; Chary as the dove; Chief in Jesus' love.

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_THE CHILDREN'S RAILROAD._

Old Time has built a Railroad, On which you children speed To a land of light and plenty, Or a land of darksome need; And soon you'll come to a meadow, Where two tracks mark the way, But they'll run close up alongside For many and many a day.

And one is strewn with roses, While one looks bleak and bare, With now and then a berry-bush, And a violet here and there;--

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On one you'll find companions Who but for pleasure seek, While friends along the other, Will words of wisdom speak.

Be careful in your choosing, For if you take the _Right_, You will travel in the shadow Of the Rock that shields at night; 'T will lead through greenest pastures Where softest brooklets flow, And land you at a Station That is full of cheer and glow.

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On the other track, the roses Are backed by sharpest thorns; While berries always nourish, And the violet but adorns;-- You will stumble into sluices, And what is worse than all, Your self-respect and conscience Grow weak with every fall.

Yes, if you choose the other That looks so bright and gay, You'll find the bridges broken, And the road-bed washed away; And when you near the Station, You'll switch to a fearful leap, That will hurl you into darkness, And bury you in the deep.

But those who choose the Right one Grow manly, womanly, true; God's love-light shines upon them, And falls as heavenly dew;-- They grieve at your wild folly, And will gladly help you back, If at any curve or turning You seek the trusty track.

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But ah! the scars you're wearing, From thorns that pierced you sore,-- {302} And the ditches in which you've fallen, That were strewn with roses o'er;-- And the joys you've lost, unnumbered, That spring from good deeds done; And the fruits you've missed, unmeasured, That by others have been won.

Though friends may be indulgent, And loved ones even forget, Yourself can never banish The memories that beset. You will wish you had never traveled The way that leads to death; You will wish you had never reveled In the viper's venomed breath.

So beware which track you follow; And again I say, beware! The _False_ is strewn with roses,-- The _True_ looks bleak and bare; But this, 't is plain, is only That youthful, artless eyes Are open to show and glamour, But see not deep nor wise,

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To Truth then, children, listen, And cultivate the seed That in your hearts God planted, To serve your every need;-- Yes, heed the voice within you, And follow it all the way, For it will help you choose the road That leads to endless day.

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_THE PHOEBE'S NEST IN THE OLD WELL-WHEEL._

"Phoe-be, phoe-be," why, 'tis a little bird, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," singing the pretty word; "Phoe-be, phoe-be," brown feathers cover him, Gray breast, with blackish stripes scattered all over him.

"Phoe-be, phoe-be," here comes his little mate, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," both on the garden gate, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," loving now they trill, Planning to build a nest in the old well-wheel.

"Phoe-be, phoe-be," now the nest is begun; "Phoe-be, phoe-be," now it is nearly done; "Phoe-be, phoe-be," how will the birdies feel, When the egg is dropped down, with turn of the wheel.

"Phoe-be, phoe-be," children are sorry now, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," birds are all a-worry now, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," laying eggs day by day, While the turn of the wheel ever drops them away.

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"Phoe-be, phoe-be," never the lesson learned, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," year by year they returned, "Phoe-be, phoe-be," building persistently, Where the turn of the wheel dropped the eggs all away.

Phoe-be, phoe-be, yet not in vain you wrought, Phoe-be, phoe-be, for, by your folly taught, Phoe-be, phoe-be, children plan so to build, That no eggs may be lost by the turn of life's wheel.

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_MABEL'S SNOW-FEATHERS._

Listen, children, while I tell you What our merry Mabel said When she saw the feathery snow-flakes Tumbling down about her head.

Clapping hands and dancing gaily, "Mamma, mamma, come and see! Come and see the feathers, mamma, Soft and white as they can be!"

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Standing then a moment, pondering As it were, whence came the snow, Little face so wise and thoughtful, Mabel cried: "Oh, now I know,

"There are lots of eider ducklets Up in Heaven, above the blue, And they're dropping off their feathers,-- And such downy feathers, too!

"See them frolic with each other; See them kiss as fast they fly; See them make believe they are going to, Then go gaily flitting by.

"See them on the Spruce and Balsam, Pile up little soft, fat hands; See their many plump, white cushions; See them wave their fairy wands.

"See the showers of flying feathers Whisking 'round in merry moods; See, the telegraph their perch is,-- Oh, I'm sure they're almost birds!"

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Now she fancies she can hear them Whisper of their ducklet birth;-- Hear their soft and wean-y quacklings, As they tumble down to earth.

Now she listens for the jingle Of the sleigh-bells they will bring; Now she sees the flying horses, Prancing gaily at their ring.

Lovely are these fleecy feathers, Dainty in each rare device; All unlike our ducklet feathers,-- White and soft, but cold as ice.

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Yet they cover, warmly cover Mother Earth so bleak and brown; Cover her with feathery mantles, Comforters of eider-down.

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_FOREST TREES._

Children, have you seen the budding Of the trees in valleys low? Have you watched it creeping, creeping Up the mountain, soft and slow? Weaving there a plush-like mantle, Brownish, grayish, red-dish green, Changing, changing, daily, hourly, Till it smiles in emerald sheen?

Have you watched the shades so varied, From the graceful, little white birch, Faint and tender, to the balsam's Evergreen, so dark and rich? Have you seen the quaint mosaics Gracing all the mountain-sides, Where they, mingling, intertwining, Sway like softest mid-air tides?

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Have you seen the autumn frostings Spread on all the leafage bright, Frostings of the rarest colors, Red and yellow, dark and light? Have you seen the glory painted On the mountain, valley, hill, When the landscape all illumined, Blazons forth His taste and skill?

Have you seen the foliage dropping, Tender cling, as loth to leave Mother-trees that taught them deftly, All their warp and woof to weave? Have you seen the leafless branches Tossing wildly 'gainst the blue? Have you seen the soft gray beauty Of their wintry garments' hue?

Have you thought the resurrection Seen in Nature year by year, Is a symbol of our rising In a higher, holier sphere? Children, ye are buds maturing; Make your autumn rich and grand, That your winter be a passage Through the gates to Glory-land.

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_CHILDHOOD FANCIES._

The twilight gray is falling, Now list and you shall hear The footsteps of the sylphid fays,-- This is their hour of cheer.

List to the gentle patter On each wee blade of grass, As it is bent, and back again, Whene'er the fairies pass.

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Upon the tips of grasses They cross the meadows, lawn, And laugh and dance and play and sing, From twilight hour till dawn.

They light their myriad lanterns, And hang them in the arch Of blue that canopies o'erhead, And by their light they march.

They sometimes miss a fairy, And take a lantern down To search for her, and mortals say; "A fire-fly flits around."

On leaves they hang their diamonds, Their pearls in every flower; Their gauzy veils upon the grass, They spread for fairy bower.

Their slender wings are hanging On every shrub, across; Their seats are dainty cushion-beds Of green and springy moss.

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Their shrubbery of coral Is gray and scarlet-tipped; Their hair upon the maize is hung Each Summer, when 'tis clipped.

The mushroom forms their table, Their dishes, acorn cups; The ant-hills are their barracks high; Their cannon, "hemlock pops."

Their scarfs of plush are lying On ripening grape and peach; Their sea-shells 'neath the apple trees, Each Spring bestrew their beach.

They paint the leaves in Autumn; They make a tiny rink Of every puddle, fen, and dike, And skate from nave to brink.

They brown the nuts in forests, The burrs they open wide; They lure the feathers from the clouds. And pile them up, to slide.

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They build along the way-side Their fairy palisades,-- The "hoar-frost" some have christened it,-- And hold West Point parades.

They sketch upon the windows Such pictures as no power Of man can ever execute, And on them pearl-dust shower.

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All these and myriad fancies That never can be told, My childhood days so new and sweet, In memory infold.

But mother softly whispers, "Tis not the Fays, my dears, Tis old Dame Nature's song of songs, The 'Music of the Spheres.'

"List ever for it, children, Twill bring you close to God; Each sound but echoes Him who made, Each motion is His nod."

* * * * *

"Waste not, want not," be your motto,-- Little things bring weal or woe; Save the odds and ends, my children, Some one wants them, if not you.

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_LIZZIE AND THE ANGELS._

Little Lizzie, thoughtful, earnest, Springing up at break of day, Thinks she heard the angels whisper Softly, as she knelt to pray.

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"Yes, they whispered to me, mamma, And they told me lots of things,-- And they said, 'O Lizzie, Lizzie, 'Tis your temper trouble brings!'

"Then they said: You, child, can never Be a woman good and true, If you let your fiery temper And your own will govern you; And they told me 'even Jesus Said, 'Thy will, not mine, be done,' And that if I grew up wilful, All my life I can but mourn.

And they told me, too, dear mamma, That if I were called to die, I could not be glad in heaven, For no heaven in me would lie. Now, what shall I do, dear mamma, That I may be good and true? How shall I my temper govern, And my wicked will subdue?"

"Lizzie, darling, if you listen, You will hear a voice within, {319} That will tell you every moment, What is Right, and what is Sin. But you must not disobey it, Or it will grow faint and weak; You must watch to catch its whispers, Hurry when you hear it speak.

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"For if you should linger waiting, There's another voice will say: Never mind, nobody'll know it, Even though you disobey.' And this other voice, this Tempter, Sure will lead you to the wrong, While the voice of the good angel Fills your life with cheer and song.

"In your play and in your working, You the Golden Rule must heed; Do by others as you'd have them Do by you, if in their stead. Better far to_ bear_ and _suffer_ Than to _do_ a wrong, my child; Better give up every pleasure, Than to be by sin beguiled.

"In your eating, in your drinking, In your clothing, in your talk, You can glorify the Father, Or in wickedness can walk. For your little body, Lizzie, God has said, 'Keep holy, pure,' {321} Tis His 'temple' He has lent you, Keep its every gate secure,

"What you eat and drink makes muscles, Bones and nerves, and brain, and thought; And by food and drink improper, Fearful evils may be wrought. Much of meat and spice and candies, Makes your blood impure, and then All your body's in a jangle, And your temper's wild again.

"And your clothes if tight or heavy, Help to make your blood impure; Help to make you weak and wicked, Into evil ways to lure. Foul air, too, your blood will poison Sitting up too late at night; All these things will make it harder For you, child, to do the right.

"Bad companions also lead you To the wrong, and tempt you sore To defy the voice within you Till it, grieved, will speak no more,-- {322} Do not hesitate to tell them You cannot their ways approve. Do not yield to their enticements; Tell them 'No!' with firmness, love.

"Do not ever let a single Word unkind, nor coarse, impure, Pass your lips; for these will lead you Toward the bad, you may be sure. Do not let a playmate tell you Anything that must be kept As a secret from your mother;-- Something's wrong, so don't accept.

"Always tell a thing precisely As it is; don't try to make It more fine and entertaining; Tell the truth for Truth's dear sake. Never lay a finger, darling, On what is not quite your own, Lest temptation overtake you, And your honesty be gone.

"In the silence of your chamber, When no human being's nigh, {323} Don't forget that God is with you, Watching with all seeing-eye; Don't forget that He will know it If you do a thing that's wrong; Keep yourself so pure and perfect, That your life shall be His song.

"Now, dear child, the blessed Jesus Always, when you wish it, hears, Giving help to those who ask it, Lightening woes, and lessening fears. Follow always His example; Take His precepts for your guide; Learn to trust Him, for He's walking Ever loving at your side."

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_CHILD-MEMORIES._

Was ever so sweet the clover, Was ever so clear the brook, As my child-days, over and over, Found fresh in the dear home-nook?

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Was ever such grace of motion, Or ever such trills of song. As the birds in mid-air ocean, Poured childhood's plays among?

Were ever so bright the noondays, Were ever the skies so blue, Or so soft the slanting moon-rays, As stole my childhood through?

Was ever so dear a mother, Or a child so sweet, I pray, As my blue-eyed baby-brother, In the time so far away?

Was ever so true boy-lover,-- O, ever such pictures bright, As my child-days, over and over, Reflect by memory's light!

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_NELLY AND NED._

"I'M twelve years old to-day," says Ned, "And wish I were twelve more, sir,-- And Nelly Warner's almost twelve, So we'd be twenty-four, sir."

"'And what of that!' Why, Nelly 'n' I Have always played together; And then I draw her on my sled, To school in stormy weather.

"And all the goodies that we get, We share them half and half, sir; And O, we have such lots of fun, I'm sure 'twould make you laugh, sir!

"Now Nelly lives in Cottage Square, While I live 'round the corner, And all the boys would laugh and shout, 'Ned Jarrett loves Nell Warner.'

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"I didn't care for this, you know, But O, I couldn't bear it When they began to laugh at her, And say, 'Nell loves Ned Jarrett!'

"And so I thought I'd have to fight,-- And though I was the smallest Of all the party, I's so mad I'd easy beat the tallest.

"But Nelly coaxed and comforted, And said, 'Why would I do it, When they had only told the truth, And everybody knew it!'"

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_THE CLAMBERERS._

All you babies Perched in air, Careful how you Caper there! Careful lest the Little feet Or the little Hands so sweet, Lose their hold And babies fall,-- Careful, careful, Babies all.

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_THE NEW WHITE JATTET._

I never seen such naughty dirls As Susy Jones and Ellen; They laughed, O desht as hard's they tould When I twipped up and fell in The old toal-hole. And see, mamma, I tore my new white jattet; And when I twied, they laughed and laughed, And said, "O, what a wattet!" The bid dirls talled them most untind, And said they surely knew it, The teaching of the Dolden Wule, And then how tould they do it! I duess they'd twy if they was me, I duess they'd mate a wattet, If they should fall in a toal-hole, And tear their new white jattet.

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_REMEMBER THE POOR._

"SWEET, my darling, come and see What mamma has brought for thee; Garments soft and ribbons bright, Hat and coat, a pretty sight; Sweet, my child, what shall we do With the old, now you've the new?"

"Why, mamma, this frock and frill, These are good and pretty still. But as they are quite too small, Give them, please, to Lillie Ball In the cottage by the hill, She'll be glad, I know she will; For mamma, they're very poor, And 'tis cold to cross the moor In their tattered garments few; Mamma, may I give the new?"

"No, my child, and yet you may Sometimes give new things away. Keep your pennies, and they'll be Dollars, by and by, two, three; Thus you now and then may have Something new and fresh to give."

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_THE LITTLE STREET-SWEEPER._

Look at that little girl sweeping the crossing; See how the mud her bare legs is embossing! And her feet are so slippered with mud, that it seems As though from the ground she grew up 'mongst the teams; And why she's not run over surely's a wonder, Standing there sweeping, the horses' feet under. See her close curls and her bright, beaming eye; Though fearless, the glance, you perceive, is half shy, {333} As so lightly she swings her wet broom, and so true,-- Let us cross, and we'll give her a penny or two.

But wait, now a passer-by hands her a penny; Just see her bright glance twinkle over to Benny, The little hunchback sitting there on the curb-stone, Close up to the lamp-post, that he may disturb none. His crutches beside him a sorry tale tell; But see, he's a basket of knick-nacks to sell; And a lady has bought for her child a toy whip, And now from her port-monaie gives him the scrip, But refuses the change,--and with tears in his eyes, He thanks her and blesses, with grateful surprise;-- And the glance the boy now flashes over to Jenny, Is as bright as she gave him when she got the penny. O, I've seen them so many times! always together, Always happy and cheery, in bright or dull weather; For though he makes the most when it's fair, as they show me, Yet she does the best when it's muddy and stormy.

Watch, now, her quick smile of such pleased recognition:-- To win it I oft come this way on my mission. But see, she draws back as I offer the penny, {334} And modestly says, "Madam, please keep the money, For you know 'tis a pleasure to me to be sweeping The path for you, lady;" and, all the time keeping Her broom just before us to brush the least speck, The sweet smiles in her eyes her whole being bedeck. So I keep it, for she has as good claim as I To the right to do favors and none will deny That "It is more blessed to give than receive," And her sweep is far more than my pennies to give. But we'll stop and see Benny, and make it up there, For in all that each gets they will both have a share. A nice little bib for my baby at home,-- A patent tape-measure, a mother-pearl comb; And Benny's pale face lightens up with a glow Such as angels rejoice in;--now, Maud, we must go. But to Benny: "I'm thinking to-night I may come And bring my friend with me, to see your new home." "O, if you will!" says the child with delight Rippling over his face like a sunbeam--and quite As joyously, Jenny: "O, madam, please do, For we've something at home that we want to show you!"