One day the sun was warm and bright, And shining in the sky, c.o.c.k Robin said: "My little dears, 'Tis time you learned to fly"; And all the little young ones said: "I'll try, I'll try, I'll try."

I know a child, and who she is I'll tell you by and by, When mother says "Do this," or "that,"

She says "What for?" and "Why?"

She'd be a better child by far If she would say "I'll try."

Unknown.

_Clothes_

Although my clothes are fine and gay They should not make me vain, For Nurse can take them all away, And put them on again.

Each flower _grows_ her pretty gown, So does each little weed, Their dresses are their very own, They may be proud indeed!

Abbie Farwell Brown.

_A Music Box_

I am a little Music Box Wound up and made to go, And play my little living-tune The best way that I know.

If I am naughty, cross, or rude The music will go wrong, My little works be tangled up, And spoil the pretty song.

I must be very sweet and good And happy all the day, And then the little Music Box In tune will always play.

Abbie Farwell Brown.

_If Ever I See_

If ever I see, On bush or tree, Young birds in their pretty nest, I must not in play, Steal the birds away, To grieve their mother's breast.

My mother, I know, Would sorrow so, Should I be stolen away; So I'll speak to the birds In my softest words, Nor hurt them in my play.

And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me; And then if I'm sad It will make me glad To think they are happy and free.

Lydia Maria Child.

_Employment_

Who'll come and play with me here under the tree, My sisters have left me alone; My sweet little Sparrow, come hither to me, And play with me while they are gone.

O no, little lady, I can't come, indeed, I've no time to idle away, I've got all my dear little children to feed, And my nest to new cover with hay.

Pretty Bee, do not buzz about over the flower, But come here and play with me, do: The Sparrow won't come and stay with me an hour But stay, pretty Bee--will not you?

O no, little lady, for do not you see, Those must work who would prosper and thrive, If I play, they would call me a sad idle bee, And perhaps turn me out of the hive.

Stop! stop! little Ant--do not run off so fast, Wait with me a little and play: I hope I shall find a companion at last, You are not so busy as they.

O no, little lady, I can't stay with you, We're not made to play, but to labor: I always have something or other to do, If not for myself, for a neighbor.

What then, have they all some employment but me, Who lie lounging here like a dunce?

O then, like the Ant, and the Sparrow, and Bee, I'll go to my lesson at once.

Jane Taylor.

_St.i.tching_

A pocket handkerchief to hem-- Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

How many st.i.tches it will take Before it's done, I fear.

Yet set a st.i.tch and then a st.i.tch, And st.i.tch and st.i.tch away, Till st.i.tch by st.i.tch the hem is done-- And after work is play!

Christina G. Rossetti.

_Learning to Play_

Upon a tall piano stool I have to sit and play A stupid finger exercise For half an hour a day.

They call it "playing," but to me It's not a bit of fun.

I _play_ when I am out of doors, Where I can jump and run.

But Mother says the little birds Who sing so nicely now, Had first to learn, and practice too, All sitting on a bough.

And maybe if I practice hard, Like them, I too, some day, Shall make the pretty music sound; Then I shall call it "play."

Abbie Farwell Brown.

_In Trust_[9]

It's coming, boys, It's almost here; It's coming, girls, The grand New Year!

A year to be glad in, Not to be bad in; A year to live in, To gain and give in; A year for trying, And not for sighing; A year for striving And hearty thriving; A bright new year.

Oh! hold it dear; For G.o.d who sendeth He only lendeth.

Mary Mapes Dodge.

[Footnote 9: _From "Rhymes and Jingles," copyright, 1874, 1904, by Chas. Scribner's Sons._]

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