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 heav'n Than when I was a boy.

Thomas Hood.

_Good-night and Good-morning_

A fair little girl sat under a tree Sewing as long as her eyes could see; Then smoothed her work and folded it right, And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night!"

Such a number of rooks came over her head Crying, "Caw, caw!" on their way to bed; She said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good-night, good-night!"

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed; The sheep's "Bleat, bleat!" came over the road.

All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, "Good little girl, good-night, good-night!"

She did not say to the sun, "Good-night!"

Though she saw him there like a ball of light; For she knew he had G.o.d's own time to keep All over the world, and never could sleep.

The tall, pink Fox-glove bowed his head-- The Violets curtsied, and went to bed; And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day, And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun."

Lord Houghton.

(Richard Monckton Milnes.)

_Little Children_

Sporting through the forest wide; Playing by the waterside; Wandering o'er the heathy fells; Down within the woodland dells; All among the mountains wild, Dwelleth many a little child!

In the baron's hall of pride; By the poor man's dull fireside: 'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean, Little children may be seen, Like the flowers that spring up fair, Bright and countless everywhere!

In the far isles of the main; In the desert's lone domain; In the savage mountain-glen, 'Mong the tribes of swarthy men; Whereso'er the sun hath shone On a league of people'd ground, Little children may be found!

Blessings on them! they in me Move a kindly sympathy, With their wishes, hopes, and fears; With their laughter and their tears; With their wonder so intense, And their small experience!

Little children, not alone On the wide earth are ye known, 'Mid its labours and its cares, 'Mid its sufferings and its snares; Free from sorrow, free from strife, In the world of love and life, Where no sinful thing hath trod-- In the presence of your G.o.d, Spotless, blameless, glorified-- Little children, ye abide!

Mary Howitt.

_The Angel's Whisper_

A baby was sleeping; Its mother was weeping; For her husband was far on the wild raging sea; And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!"

Her beads while she numbered The baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee.

"Oh, blest be that warning, Thy sweet sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee!

"And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!

And say thou would'st rather They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."

The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering to thee."

Samuel Lover.

_Little Garaine_

"Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?

The garden of moons is it far away?

The orchard of suns, my little Garaine, Will you take us there some day?"

"If you shut your eyes," quoth little Garaine, "I will show you the way to go To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons And the field where the stars do grow.

"But you must speak soft," quoth little Garaine "And still must your footsteps be, For a great bear prowls in the field of stars, And the moons they have men to see.

"And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard, And they have no pity at all---- You must not stumble, you must not speak, When you come to the orchard wall.

"The gates are locked," quoth little Garaine, "But the way I am going to tell!

The key of your heart it will open them all And there's where the darlings dwell!"

Sir Gilbert Parker.

_A Letter_

_(To Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child)_

My n.o.ble, lovely, little Peggy, Let this my First Epistle beg ye, At dawn of morn, and close of even, To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.

In double duty say your prayer: _Our Father_ first, then _Notre Pere_.

And, dearest child, along the day, In every thing you do and say, Obey and please my lord and lady, So G.o.d shall love and angels aid ye.

If to these precepts you attend, No second letter need I send, And so I rest your constant friend.

Matthew Prior.