Part 7

"Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, I tremble to think of you, World, at all; And yet, when I said my prayers, to-day, A whisper inside me seemed to say, 'You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot: You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!" _William B. Rands._

NOBODY KNOWS

Often I've heard the Wind sigh By the ivied orchard wall, Over the leaves in the dark night, Breathe a sighing call, And faint away in the silence, While I, in my bed, Wondered, 'twixt dreaming and waking, What it said.

Nobody knows what the Wind is, Under the height of the sky, Where the hosts of the stars keep far away house And its wave sweeps by-- Just a great wave of the air, Tossing the leaves in its sea, And foaming under the eaves of the roof That covers me.

And so we live under deep water, All of us, beasts and men, And our bodies are buried down under the sand, When we go again; And leave, like the fishes, our shells, And float on the Wind and away, To where, o'er the marvellous tides of the air, Burns day. _Walter de la Mare._

THE TRUANTS

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children Magic hath stolen away.

The primroses scattered by April, The stars of the wide Milky Way, Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children Magic hath stolen away.

The buttercup green of the meadows, The snow of the blossoming may, Lovelier are not than the legions of children Magic hath stolen away.

The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam, The albatross lone on the spray, Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children Magic hath stolen away.

In vain: for at hush of the evening, When the stars twinkle into the grey, Seems to echo the far-away calling of children Magic hath stolen away. _Walter de la Mare._

WILL EVER?

Will he ever be weary of wandering, The flaming sun? Ever weary of waning in lovelight, The white still moon? Will ever a shepherd come With a crook of simple gold, And lead all the little stars Like lambs to the fold?

Will ever the Wanderer sail From over the sea, Up the river of water, To the stones to me? Will he take us all into his ship, Dreaming, and waft us far, To where in the clouds of the West, The Islands are? _Walter de la Mare._

WANDERERS

Wide are the meadows of night, And daisies are shining there, Tossing their lovely dews, Lustrous and fair; And through these sweet fields go, Wanderers amid the stars-- Venus, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars.

'Tired in their silver, they move, And circling, whisper and say, Fair are the blossoming meads of delight Through which we stray. _Walter de la Mare._

CHRISTMAS

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around.

"Fear not," said he,--for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind-- "Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind.

"To you, in David's town, this day Is born, of David's line, The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord; And this shall be the sign:

"The heavenly babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapped in swathing bands, And in a manger laid."

Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith Appeared a shining throng Of angels, praising God, and thus Addressed their joyful song:

"All glory be to God on high, And to the earth be peace: Good-will henceforth from heaven to men Begin and never cease!" _Nahum Tate._

THE SNOW-BIRD'S SONG

The ground was all covered with snow one day, And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee, Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-dee-dee.

He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song; "Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she, "Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-dee-dee.

"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat if you choose; I wish he'd come into the parlor, and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-dee-dee! Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-dee-dee!"

"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?" And away he went singing his chick-a-dee-dee. Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, And away he went singing his chick-a-dee-dee. _F.C. Woodworth._

SPRING

The alder by the river Shakes out her powdery curls; The willow buds in silver For little boys and girls.

The little birds fly over And oh, how sweet they sing! To tell the happy children That once again 'tis spring.

The gay green grass comes creeping So soft beneath their feet; The frogs begin to ripple A music clear and sweet.

And buttercups are coming, And scarlet columbine, And in the sunny meadows The dandelions shine.

And just as many daisies As their soft hands can hold The little ones may gather, All fair in white and gold.

Here blows the warm red clover, There peeps the violet blue; O happy little children! God made them all for you. _Celia Thaxter._

THE SANDPIPER

Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach,-- One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; He starts not at my fitful song, Or flash of fluttering drapery. He has no thought of any wrong; He scans me with a fearless eye. Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? My driftwood fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the sky: For are we not God's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I? _Celia Thaxter._

O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM

O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by; Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary, And, gathered all above, While mortals sleep, the angels keep Their watch of wondering love. O morning stars, together Proclaim the holy birth! And praises sing to God the King, And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of His heaven. No ear may hear His coming, But in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive Him still, The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem! Descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, Be born in us to-day. We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell; Oh, come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel! _Phillips Brooks._

THE SANDMAN

The rosy clouds float overhead, The sun is going down, And now the sandman's gentle tread Comes stealing through the town.

"White sand, white sand," he softly cries, And, as he shakes his hand, Straightway there lies on babies' eyes His gift of shining sand. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

From sunny beaches far away, Yes, in another land, He gathers up at break of day His store of shining sand. No tempests beat that shore remote, No ships may sail that way; His little boat alone may float Within that lovely bay. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

He smiles to see the eyelids close Above the happy eyes! And every child right well he knows-- Oh, he is very wise! But if, as he goes through the land, A naughty baby cries, His other hand takes dull gray sand To close the wakeful eyes. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

So when you hear the sandman's song Sound through the twilight sweet, Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting on the street. Lie softly down, dear little head, Rest quiet, busy hands, Till, by your bed his good-night said, He strews the shining sands. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. _Margaret Vandegrift._

RED RIDING-HOOD

On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; The wind that through the pine-trees sung The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; While, through the window, frosty-starred, Against the sunset purple barred, We saw the sombre crow flap by, The hawk's gray fleck along the sky,

The crested blue-jay flitting swift, The squirrel poising on the drift, Erect, alert, his broad gray tail Set to the north wind like a sail. It came to pass, our little lass, With flattened face against the glass, And eyes in which the tender dew Of pity shone, stood gazing through The narrow space her rosy lips Had melted from the frost's eclipse: "Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! What is it that the black crow says? The squirrel lifts his little legs Because he has no hands, and begs; He's asking for my nuts, I know; May I not feed them on the snow?"

Half lost within her boots, her head Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, She floundered down the wintry lawn; Now struggling through the misty veil Blown round her by the shrieking gale; Now sinking in a drift so low Her scarlet hood could scarcely show Its dash of color on the snow.

She dropped for bird and beast forlorn Her little store of nuts and corn, And thus her timid guests bespoke: "Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,-- Come, black old crow,--come, poor blue-jay, Before your supper's blown away! Don't be afraid, we all are good; And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!"

O Thou whose care is over all, Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, Keep in the little maiden's breast The pity which is now its guest! Let not her cultured years make less The childhood charm of tenderness, But let her feel as well as know, Nor harder with her polish grow! Unmoved by sentimental grief That wails along some printed leaf, But prompt with kindly word and deed To own the claims of all who need, Let the grown woman's self make good The promise of Red Riding-Hood! _John G. Whittier._

THE SONG SPARROW

There is a bird I know so well, It seems as if he must have sung Beside my crib when I was young; Before I knew the way to spell The name of even the smallest bird, His gentle, joyful song I heard. Now see if you can tell, my dear, What bird it is, that every year, Sings "Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."

He comes in March, when winds are strong, And snow returns to hide the earth; But still he warms his head with mirth, And waits for May. He lingers long While flowers fade, and every day Repeats his sweet, contented lay; As if to say we need not fear The season's change, if love is here, With "Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."

He does not wear a Joseph's coat Of many colors, smart and gay; His suit is Quaker brown and gray, With darker patches at his throat. And yet of all the well-dressed throng, Not one can sing so brave a song. It makes the pride of looks appear A vain and foolish thing to hear His "Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer." _Henry van Dyke._

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER

I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white; The violets and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,-- The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing; And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember, The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. _Thomas Hood._

TALKING IN THEIR SLEEP

"You think I am dead," The apple tree said, "Because I have never a leaf to show-- Because I stoop, And my branches droop, And the dull gray mosses over me grow! But I'm still alive in trunk and shoot; The buds of next May I fold away-- But I pity the withered grass at my root."

"You think I am dead," The quick grass said, "Because I have parted with stem and blade! But under the ground I am safe and sound With the snow's thick blanket over me laid. I'm all alive, and ready to shoot, Should the spring of the year Come dancing here-- But I pity the flower without branch or root." "You think I am dead," A soft voice said, "Because not a branch or root I own. I never have died, But close I hide In a plumy seed that the wind has sown. Patient I wait through the long winter hours; You will see me again-- I shall laugh at you then, Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers." _Edith M. Thomas._

LITTLE DANDELION

Little bud Dandelion Hears from her nest, "Merry heart, starry eye, Wake from your rest!" Wide ope the emerald lids; Robin's above; Wise little Dandelion Smiles at his love.

Cold lie the daisy-banks, Clad but in green, Where in the Mays agone Bright hues were seen. Wild pinks are slumbering, Violets delay-- True little Dandelion Greeteth the May.

Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair, Till dries the amber dew Out from her hair. High rides the thirsty sun, Fiercely and high,-- Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye.

Dead little Dandelion, In her white shroud, Heareth the angel-breeze Call from the cloud. Tiny plumes fluttering Make no delay, Little winged Dandelion Soareth away. _Helen L. Bostwick._

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INDEX OF TITLES

Afternoon in February _Henry W. Longfellow_ Ant and the Cricket, The _Anonymous_ April Day, An _Henry W. Longfellow_ April Welcome, An _Phoebe Cary_ Autumn _Alice Cary_ Autumn Fires _Robert Louis Stevenson_

Ballad of the Tempest, The _James T. Fields_ Birds in Summer _Mary Howitt_ Bluebird, The _Emily Huntington Miller_ Blue Jay, The _Susan Hartley Swett_ "Bob White" _George Cooper_ Brook-Song, The _James Whitcomb Riley_ Brown Thrush, The _Lucy Larcom_ Busy Day, A _Anonymous_

Calling the Violet _Lucy Larcom_ Camel's Hump, The _Rudyard Kipling_ Captain's Daughter, The (See "Ballad of the Tempest") Chestnut Burr, The _Anonymous_ Child's Prayer, A _Matilda B. Edwards_ Child's Thought of God, A _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ Choosing a Name _Mary Lamb_ Christmas _Nahum Tate_ Christmas Carol, A _J.G. Holland_

Daisies, The _Bliss Carman_ Dandelion _Kate L. Brown_ Dandelions, The _Helen Gray Cone_ Day, A _Emily Dickinson_ Daybreak _Henry W. Longfellow_ Don't Kill the Birds _J. Colesworthy_ Dove, The _John Keats_ "Down to Sleep" _Helen Hunt Jackson_

Emperor's Bird's Nest, The _Henry W. Longfellow_

Fable, A _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ Fairies of the Caldon Low, The _Mary Howitt_ Fairy Queen, The _Anonymous_ Fairy Song _John Keats_ Fairy Tale, A _Helen Gray Cone_ Farewell, A _Charles Kingsley_ Fern Song, The _John Bannister Tabb_ Fir-Tree, The _Josephine Preston Peabody_ Fraidie-Cat _Clinton Scollard_

Grass, The _Emily Dickinson_

Hail, Columbia! _Joseph Hopkinson_ Hiawatha's Fishing _Henry W. Longfellow_ Hiawatha's Friends _Henry W. Longfellow_ Hiawatha's Hunting _Henry W. Longfellow_ Hiawatha's Sailing _Henry W. Longfellow_ How the Leaves Came Down _Susan Coolidge_ Hunting Song _Samuel T. Coleridge_

I Remember, I Remember _Thomas Hood_

Jack Frost _Gabriel Setoun_ Jack Frost _Hannah F. Gould_ Jack in the Pulpit _Clara Smith_ Jumblies, The _Edward Lear_

King Solomon and the Bees _John G. Saxe_ Kriss Kringle _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_

Land of Dreams, The _William Blake_ Land of Story-Books, The _Robert Louis Stevenson_ Laughing Chorus, A _Anonymous_ Laughing Song, A _William Blake_ Lesson of Mercy, A _Alice Cary_ Life Lesson, A _James Whitcomb Riley_ Little by Little _Anonymous_ Little Dandelion _Helen L. Bostwick_ Little Gottlieb _Phoebe Cary_ Little Ladybird, The _Caroline B. Southey_ Little Orphant Annie _James Whitcomb Riley_ Lobster Quadrille, A _Lewis Carroll_ Lost Doll, The _Charles Kingsley_ Lullaby for Titania _William Shakespeare_ Lullaby of an Infant Chief _Sir Walter Scott_

Marjorie's Almanac _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ Morning Song, A _William Shakespeare_

Night _William Blake_ Night Wind, The _Eugene Field_ Nobody Knows _Walter de la Mare_ November _Alice Gary_

October's Bright Blue Weather _Helen Hunt Jackson_ Old Christmas _Mary Howitt_ "Old, Old Song," The _Charles Kingsley_ O Little Town of Bethlehem _Phillips Brooks_ Our Heroes _Phoebe Cary_ Owl, The _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

Pig and the Hen, The _Alice Gary_ Pirate Story _Robert Louis Stevenson_ Pobble Who Has No Toes, The _Edward Lear_

Quangle Wangle's Hat, The _Edward Lear_

Rainbow, The _William Wordsworth_ Rain in Summer _Henry W. Longfellow_ Rainy Day, The _Henry W. Longfellow_ Red Riding-Hood _John G. Whittier_ Robert of Lincoln _William Cullen Bryant_ Robin Redbreast _William Allingham_ Romance _Gabriel Setoun_

Sandman, The _Margaret Vandegrift_ Sandpiper, The _Celia Thaxter_ September _Helen Hunt Jackson_ Snow-bird's Song, The _F.C. Woodworth_ Snowdrop, The _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ Song of the Fairy _William Shakespeare_ Song Sparrow, The _Henry van Dyke_ Spider and the Fly, The _Mary Howitt_ Spring _Celia Thaxter_

Talking in Their Sleep _Edith M. Thomas_ Thanksgiving Fable, A _Oliver Herford_ Three Fishers, The _Charles Kingsley_ To a Butterfly _William Wordsworth_ Tragic Story, A _William M. Thackeray_ Tree, The _Bjornstjerne Bjornson_ Truants, The _Walter de la Mare_

Under the Greenwood Tree _William Shakespeare_ Unseen Playmate, The _Robert Louis Stevenson_

Violet, The _Jane Taylor_ Visit from St. Nicholas, A _Clement C. Moore_ Voice of Spring, The _Mary Howitt_

Waiting to Grow _Frank French_ Walrus and the Carpenter, The _Lewis Carroll_ Wanderers _Walter de la Mare_ We Are Seven _William Wordsworth_ While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night (See "Christmas") White Seal _Rudyard Kipling_ Will Ever? _Walter de la Mare_ Wind and the Moon, The _.George Macdonald_ Wind in a Frolic, The _William Howitt_ Wind, The _Robert Louis Stevenson_ Winter _William Shakespeare_ Winter-Time _Robert Louis Stevenson_ Wishing _William Allingham_ Wonderful World, The _William B. Rands_ World's Music, The _Gabriel Setoun_

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A boy named Peter Across the German Ocean Across the narrow beach we flit "And where have you been, my Mary A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing A simple Child At evening when the lamp is lit "Awake, awake, my little boy! A wee little nut lay deep in its nest A wind came up out of the sea

Come, follow, follow me Come up, April, through the valley

Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern Dear little Violet Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds Down in a green and shady bed

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly

Forth into the forest straightway Forth upon the Gitche Gumee

"Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree! God make my life a little light Good-bye, good-bye to Summer "Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world