Part 1

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Songs for the Little Ones at Home

Songs for the Little Ones at Home

_REVISED EDITION_

_350th Thousand_

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK

Copyright, 1884 and 1911, by AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

HEART AND HEARTHSTONE 7

HOUR BY HOUR 47

LITTLE POOR RELATIONS 81

THE GREAT OUTDOORS 135

ON EARTH AS IN HEAVEN 175

THE CHRIST CHILD 219

HEROES AND PATRIOTS 231

INDEX 253

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Acknowledgments are made to Charles Scribner’s Sons for the use of _My Shadow_, from A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES:

To Houghton, Mifflin & Company for _The Leak in the Dike_, from THE POEMS OF PHŒBE CARY:

To the American Book Company for _The Reindeer and the Rabbit_, from the old MCGUFFEY SECOND ECLECTIC READER; and for _Young Soldiers_ and _The Lord’s Prayer_, from the old MCGUFFEY THIRD ECLECTIC READER.

Thanks are also rendered to Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster for the use of _Dear Little Heads in the Pew_; and to Professor Irsay de Irsa and others for advice and encouragement.

HEART AND HEARTHSTONE

Some precious words are born of earth, Some others by the angels given; But sweetest of celestial birth Are these: “My Mother,” “Home,” and “Heaven.”

[Music: THE FATHER’S WILL

Air, with bass accompaniment

1. How sweet the home of Nazareth Where Mary mother smiled, And flow’rs of daily duty bloom’d About the holy Child. His Father’s will was all His task Within that earthly home, That will for ever done in Heav’n Whence He so late had come.

2. Obedient, gentle, loving, meek, He worked at Joseph’s side; Does nothing from that daily toil Thro’ all the years abide? We scan the wide world o’er, nor find. In any clime or land, One single, sacred, treasured thing Wrought out by Jesus’ hand.

3. But wheresoe’er a Christian child Does on the earth fulfil.... With humble, rev’rent, tender heart The heav’nly Father’s will, The work, tho’ mean and poor to view With heav’nly grace is fraught, Since age to age it passes on The lesson Jesus taught. ]

HEART AND HEARTHSTONE

THE FATHER’S WILL

How sweet the home of Nazareth, Where Mary mother smiled, And flowers of duty daily bloomed About the holy Child.

His Father’s will was all his task Within that earthly home, The will forever done in heaven, Whence he so late had come.

Obedient, gentle, loving, meek, He worked at Joseph’s side: Does nothing from that daily toil Through all the years abide?

We scan the wide world o’er, nor find, In any clime or land, One single, sacred, treasured thing Wrought out by Jesus’ hand;

But wheresoe’er a Christian child Does on the earth fulfil With humble, reverent, tender heart, The heavenly Father’s will,

The work, though mean and poor to view, With heavenly grace is fraught, Since age to age it passes on The lesson Jesus taught.

WHEN FATHER COMES HOME

When my father comes home in the evening from work, Then I will get up on his knee, And tell him how many nice lessons I’ve learned, And show him how good I can be.

He’ll ask me what number I know how to count, I’ll tell him what words I can spell; And if I can learn something new every day, I hope soon to read very well.

I’ll repeat to him all the good verses I know, And tell him how kind we must be, That we never must hurt little creatures at all; And he will be glad, and love me.

I’ll tell him we always must try to please God, And never be cruel nor rude, For God is the Father of all living things, He cares for and blesses the good.

DEAR MAMMA

My own mamma; my dear mamma! How happy shall I be To-morrow night at candlelight, When she comes home to me!

’Tis just one week since on my cheek She pressed the parting kiss: It seems like two; I never knew So long a week as this.

My tangled hair she smoothed with care, With water bathed my brow; And all with such a gentle touch-- I wish she’d do it now.

But she will come; she’ll be at home To-morrow night; and then I hope that she will never be So long away again.

MY MOTHER

My mother, my kind mother, I hear thy gentle voice; It always makes my little heart Beat gladly and rejoice.

When I am ill it comes to me, And kindly soothes my pain; And when I sleep, then in my dreams It sweetly comes again.

It always makes me happy, Whene’er I hear its tone; I know it is the voice of love, From a heart that is my own.

My mother, my dear mother, O may I never be Unkind or disobedient, In any way, to thee.

FOR MOTHER

I give my mother lots of kisses, There’s really never one she misses: A “wake-up kiss” right in the morning, A “good-night kiss” when I am yawning, A “sorry kiss” when I’ve been bad, A “happy kiss” when I am glad. Once she was sick; I went to stay At auntie’s house, oh, miles away! Then I sent kisses in a letter; She said they truly made her better. There’s never really one she misses, Oh, I give mother lots of kisses.

PAPA IS COMING

I know he’s coming by this sign,— The baby’s almost wild! See how he laughs and crows and starts-- Heaven bless the merry child! He’s father’s self in face and limb, And father’s heart is strong in him. Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands, For father on the threshold stands.

MY FATHER BLESSED ME

My father raised his trembling hand And laid it on my head; “God bless thee, O my son, my son!” Most tenderly he said.

He died, and left no gems or gold: But still I was his heir, For that rich blessing which he gave Became a fortune rare.

WELCOME

Welcome, welcome, little stranger, To this busy world of care; Nothing can thy peace endanger, Nothing now thy steps ensnare.

Mother’s heart is filled with pleasure, All her feelings are awake; Gladly would she, little treasure, All thy pains and sufferings take.

Mayest thou, if designed by heaven Future days and years to see, Soothe her, make her passage even; Let her heart rejoice in thee.

May her anxious cares and labors Be repaid by filial love; And thy soul be crowned with favors From the boundless source above.

—_Taylor._

THE PRINCE COMES!

“What is this pretty little thing, That nurse so carefully doth bring, And round its head a blanket fling? A baby!

“Oh, dear, how very soft its cheek; Why, nurse, I cannot make it speak, And it can’t walk, it is so weak. A baby!

“Oh, I’m afraid that it will die; Why can’t it eat as well as I, And jump, and talk? Do let it try. Poor baby!”

“Why, you were once a baby too, And could not jump as now you do, But good mamma took care of you, Like baby.

“And then she taught your little feet To pat along the carpet neat, And called papa to come and meet His baby.

“O dear mamma, to take such care, And no kind pains and trouble spare To feed and nurse you when you were A baby.”

WHERE DID YOU COME FROM, BABY DEAR?

Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through.

Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm, white rose? I saw something better than any one knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels at once gave me a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear.

How did they all just come to you? God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I am here.

—_George Macdonald._

HUSHABY

Hushaby, hushaby, Baby, do not weep; On thy downy pillow lie, Softly, softly sleep.

Hushaby, hushaby, Now thine eyelids close; While thy mother sitting by Watches thy repose.

Hushaby, hushaby, Think of no alarm; Angel spirits round thee fly, Guarding thee from harm.

Hushaby, hushaby, Slumber sweet be given; On thy downy pillow lie, Precious gift from heaven.

BABY, SLEEP

Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Near thee sits thy little brother, Close beside thee is thy mother: Sleep, baby, sleep.

Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Israel’s Shepherd watches o’er thee, No rude danger lies before thee: Sleep, baby, sleep.

Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Germ of beauty, bud and blossom, Rest upon thy Saviour’s bosom: Sleep, baby, sleep.

SWEETLY SLEEP

Sleep, my baby--sleep, my boy, Rest your little weary head; ’Tis your mother rocks her boy In his little cradle bed.

All the little birds are sleeping-- Every one has gone to rest; And my precious one is resting In his pretty cradle nest.

SLEEP, BABY! SLEEP!

Sleep, baby! sleep! Thy father watches his sheep, Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree, And down falls a little dream on thee. Sleep, baby! sleep!

Sleep, baby! sleep! The large stars are the sheep; The little stars are the lambs, I guess, And the bright moon is the shepherdess Sleep, baby! sleep!

Sleep, baby! sleep! Thy Saviour loves his sheep; He is the Lamb of God on high, Who for our sakes came down to die. Sleep, baby! sleep!

GOOD-NIGHT

Baby, baby, lay your head On your pretty little bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight, Little baby dear, good-night, Sleep, my sweet, till morning light.

MORNING

Baby, baby, ope your eye, For the sun is in the sky, And he’s peeping once again Through the clear, bright window-pane; Little baby, do not keep Any longer fast asleep, Through your cradle curtains peep.

THE BABY-JUMPER

Now, little Georgie, jump up high; Never mind, Georgie, mother is by: Crow and caper, caper and crow, There, little baby, there you go, Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Upwards and downwards, round and round; Then jump, little Georgie, and mother shall sing, While the gay, merry bells go ting-a-ling-ling.

LEARNING TO WALK

Come, my darling, come away, Take a pretty walk to-day; Run along, and never fear, I’ll take care of baby dear; Up and down with little feet, That’s the way to walk, my sweet.

Now you are so very near, Soon you’ll get to mother dear; There, she comes along at last: Here’s my finger, hold it fast. Now, one pretty little kiss, After such a walk as this.

MY BROTHER

Who often with me kindly played, And all my little playthings made, Through lonely hours who with me stayed? My brother.

Who made a sled when winter came, With little ropes to draw the same, And on its sides carved out my name? My brother.

And who was it that taught to me The way to read my A, B, C, And marked them on the slate for me? My brother.

Then may I ever grateful be For all thy kindness shown to me, And ne’er withdraw my love from thee, My brother.

LOVE YOUR LITTLE BROTHER

I had a little friend; And every day he crept In sadness to his brother’s tomb, And laid him down and wept.

And when I asked him why He mourned so long and sore, He answered through his tears, “Because I did not love him more.

“Sometimes I was not kind, Or cross, or coldly spake;” And then he turned away, and sobbed As though his heart would break.

Brothers and sisters are a gift Of mercy from the skies; And may I always think of this Whene’er they meet my eyes;

Be tender, good, and kind, And love them in my heart, Lest I should sigh with bitter grief, When we are called to part.

—_Mrs. Sigourney._

THE BROOK

’Twas here my sister dear was drowned One long, bright summer-day; Here was the little darling found By good and faithful Tray.

’Tis many years since Ellen died; But I have not forgot The moment we her bonnet spied Beside this very spot.

How very wet her golden hair, And how it made me weep To see her lie so still and fair, And know it was not sleep.

Poor Tray sits watching in my face With such an earnest look; He knows full well how sad a place Is this sweet babbling brook.

Had I a sister now to love, How very kind I’d be; Ellen, the little gentle dove, Was always kind to me.

LOVE ONE ANOTHER

A little girl with a happy look Sat slowly reading a ponderous book All bound with velvet and edged with gold, And its weight was more than the child could hold; Yet dearly she loved to ponder it o’er, And every day she prized it more; For it said--and she looked at her smiling mother-- It said, “Little children, love one another.”

She thought it was beautiful in the book, And the lesson home to her heart she took; She walked on her way with a trusting grace, And a dovelike look in her meek young face, Which said, just as plain as words could say, The holy Bible I must obey; So, mamma, I’ll be kind to my darling brother, For “little children must love each other.”

I am sorry he’s naughty, and will not play. But I’ll love him still, for I think the way To make him gentle and kind to me, Will be better shown, if I let him see I strive to do what I think is right: And thus, when we kneel in prayer to-night, I will clasp my arms about my brother, And say, “Little children, love one another.”

The little girl did as her Bible taught, And pleasant indeed was the change it wrought; For the boy looked up in glad surprise, To meet the light of her loving eyes: His heart was full--he could not speak, But he pressed a kiss on his sister’s cheek, And God looked down on the happy mother, Whose “little children loved one another.”

SYMPATHY

Does your head ache, little brother? Are you sick, and are you weak? Are you sad, and tired of playing? Does it hurt you when you speak?

I can’t cure you, darling brother, Cannot ease a single pain; I’ll go ask our heavenly Father, He can make you well again.

LOVE AT HOME

Whatever brawls disturb the street, There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet, Quarrels should never come.

Birds in their little nests agree; And ’tis a shameful sight, When children of one family Fall out and chide and fight.

Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage, Our little brawls remove; That, as we grow to riper age, Our hearts may all be love.

—_Watts._

WE ARE SEVEN

I met a little cottage girl, She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

“Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?” “How many? seven in all,” she said, And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell;” She answered, “Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea.

“Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother.”

“You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet you are seven; I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be.”

Then did the little maid reply, “Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree.”

“You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then you are only five.”

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,” The little maid replied, “Twelve steps or more from mother’s door, And they are side by side.

“My stockings there I often knit; My ’kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit-- I sit and sing to them.

“And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.

“The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her from her pain, And then she went away.

“So in the churchyard she was laid; And when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.

“And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, then,” said I, “If those two are in heaven?” The little maiden did reply, “Oh, master, we are seven.”

“But they are dead--those two are dead, Their spirits are in heaven.” ’Twas throwing words away, for still The little maid would have her will, And said, “Nay, we are seven.”

—_Wordsworth._

GRANDPA AND ME

My grandpa says that he was once A little boy like me. I s’pose he was, and yet it does Seem queer to think that he Could ever get my jacket on, Or shoes, or like to play With games and toys and race with Duke, As I do every day.

He’s come to visit us, you see; Nurse says I must be good And mind my manners, as a child With such a grandpa should. For grandpa’s very straight and tall, And very dignified; He knows ’most all there is to know, And other things beside.

So, though my grandpa knows so much, I thought that maybe boys Were things he hadn’t studied, They make such awful noise. But when at dinner I asked for Another piece of pie, I thought I saw a twinkle In the corner of his eye.

So yesterday, when they went out, And left us two alone, I was not quite so much surprised To find how nice he’d grown. You should have seen us romp and run! My! now I almost see That p’r’aps he was, long, long ago, A little boy like me.

—_The Round Table._

JESUS DWELLS WITHIN

K. E. C. German

1. Down in our lowly home All goes so well; All pleasures hither come To our sweet dell; Father so brave is here, Mother so kind and dear! Oh, in our lowly home All goes so well.

2. Down by our fireside neat Love rules the hours Thro’ winter’s icy sleet And summer’s flow’rs. Children, a happy band, Kind words and gentle hand: Oh, by our fireside neat Love rules the hours.

3. Why in our peaceful cot Goes all so well? Why here love faileth not Can any tell? Jesus abides within, Guarding from strife and sin. O Saviour, evermore Here with us dwell.

THE BLIND BOY

“Dear Mary,” said the poor blind boy, “That little bird sings very long; Say, do you see him in his joy, And is he pretty as his song?”

“Yes, Edward, yes,” replied the maid, “I see the bird on yonder tree”; The poor boy sighed, and gently said, “Sister, I wish that I could see.

“The flowers, you say, are very fair, And bright green leaves are on the trees, And pretty birds are singing there-- How beautiful for one who sees.

“Yet I the fragrant flowers can smell, And I can feel the green leaf’s shade, And I can hear the notes that swell From those dear birds that God has made.

“So, sister, God to me is kind, Though sight to me he has not given; But tell me, are there any blind Among the children up in heaven?”

LITTLE NEIGHBORS

Two children are at the door, mamma, Two children are at the door, A little boy and a little girl, And the wind is biting, at every whirl, Their feet all naked and sore.

Oh, hasten and bring them in, mamma, Oh, hasten and bring them in, And let them sit by the fire so warm, For they have been out in the cold, cold storm, And their clothes are tattered and thin.

And tell them this is their home, mamma, Oh, tell them this is their home; And give them something to eat that’s nice, Of bread and butter a good large slice, And bid them no more to roam.

For isn’t it all too bad, mamma, Oh, isn’t it all too bad, That they must starve, or beg in the street, No cloak to their backs, or shoes to their feet, While I am so finely clad?

It may be God sent them here, mamma, It may be God sent them here, And now looks down from his home in the sky, To watch them and see whether you and I Are kind to his children dear.

And will he not angry be, mamma, And will he not angry be, If we let them go on in the storm so rough, To perish with want, while more than enough For them and for us have we?

A BOY’S FAITH

I knew a widow very poor, Who four small children had; The eldest was but six years old, A gentle, modest lad.

And very hard this widow toiled To feed her children four; A noble heart the mother had, Though she was very poor.

To labor, she would leave her home, For children must be fed; And glad was she when she could buy A shilling’s worth of bread.

And this was all the children had On any day to eat: They drank their water, ate their bread, But never tasted meat.

One day when snow was falling fast, And piercing was the air, I thought that I would go and see How these poor ones might fare.

Ere long I reached their cheerless home-- ’Twas searched by every breeze-- When, going in, the eldest child I saw upon his knees.

I paused to hear poor Willie’s prayer; He never raised his head, But still went on, and said, “Give us This day our daily bread.”

I waited till the child was done, Still listening as he prayed; And when he rose, I asked him why That prayer he then had said.

“Why, sir,” said he, “this morning, when My mother went away, She wept, because she said she had No bread for us to-day.

“She said we children now must starve, Our father being dead; And then I told her not to cry, For I could get some bread.

“‘Our Father,’ sir, the prayer begins, Which made me think that he, As we have no kind father here, Would our kind Father be.

“And then you know, sir, that the prayer Asks God for bread each day; So in the corner, sir, I went, And that’s what made me pray.”

I quickly left that wretched room, And went with fleeting feet, And very soon was back again With food enough to eat.

“I _thought_ God heard me,” said the boy. I answered with a nod; I could not speak, but much I thought Of Willie’s faith in God.

THE ORPHAN FLOWER-GIRL