  The songs of this department are introduced chiefly for children who are just beginning to entertain a few simple ideas and principles relative to things around them. The mother should commence with some of the easiest songs, and afterwards, as she proceeds with the more difficult ones, furnish the words with an occasional comment. THE MERRY LARK.Music Hark, hark, The merry lark, Beginning her morning song; Robin redbreast Is still in her nest And silent is her tongue. No, no, It will not do, Though Robin may lie in bed; "Early and bright "As soon as 'tis light" My mother to me has said— See, see The busy bee A going from flower to flower, Carries a sting, While under her wing She holds her honied store. So, so— While busy too, In study or useful work; In many a sweet Which we may meet Some poison'd sting may lurk. UP IN THE MORNING.Music Up in the morning, up my child, See the sun, how bright and mild; See the dew-drops every one Glist'ning in the sun: Time for the dear one up to spring, While the merry bells do ring. Quick let me put your clean dress on, For the night is past and gone; Now another day is giv'n, By our Lord in heav'n: Now when the morning air you feel To your heav'nly Keeper kneel. Praise to the Lord for morning light, Praise for safety through the night, While the birds are singing all, On the Lord we call: Thus in the morning we will praise Our Redeemer all our days. DAWN OF DAY.Music Come, arise from thy sleep, Through the green bushes peep, Birds sweetly are straying, Their bright plumes displaying, At dawn of day. Let us breath the fresh air, For the morning is fair, And the forest is ringing With merry birds singing At dawn of day. Come along for a talk Or a sweet morning walk, While the garden discloses Its bright blushing roses, At dawn of day. But first to our King Let us joyfully sing, And praises be paying, 'Tis good to be praying At dawn of day. TIME TO ARISE.Music Father and mother, 'tis time to arise, Sun has arisen to brighten the skies; Every bird is singing high; Birds are glad, and so am I. Merrily, merrily those in the tree, Bluebird and robin are singing to me; Round the window see them fly; Birds are glad, and so am I. Glad little robin, you never can know Who is the Maker that fashion'd you so; Yet you cannot weep or sigh; Birds are glad, and so am I. He who created the birds of the air, Securely will keep me from trouble and care: He has taught the birds to fly; Birds are glad, and so am I. O, WILD IS THY JOY.Music O wild is thy joy, My affectionate boy, What visions of fancy come o'er thee? Thy spirit so proud, Thy laughter so loud— What transports are glit'ring before thee? Dost think of a day Thou mayst ramble and play, O'er the meadows, the forests, and mountains? Or in the sweet vale, 'Mong the lilies so pale, By the side of the rills and the fountains? Some glim'rings of thought Perchance thou hast caught, While thy spirit within thee rejoices, Some simple delight, Some object of sight Or sound in the mingling of voices. O, brief is thy mirth, For the visions of earth, Like the shadows of noon-day, are flying: But joys that are pure, Shall forever endure, Though earth and its transports are dying. LITTLE JACK.Music There was one Little Jack, Not very long back, And 'tis said to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen With his hands at all clean, Nor yet ever clean was his face. His kind friends were much hurt To see so much dirt, And often and well did they scour; But all was in vain He was dirty again Before they had done it an hour. When to wash he was sent He reluctantly went With water to splash himself o'er; But he left the black streaks All over his cheeks And made them look worse than before. All the idle and bad May much like this lad, Be dirty and black, to be sure: But good boys are seen To be decent and clean, Although they are ever so poor. Jane Taylor. AH, WHY WILL MY DEAR.WASHING AND DRESSING. Ah, why will my dear little girl be so cross, And cry, and look sulky, and pout? To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss: I can't even kiss her without. You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd: But would you be dirty and foul? Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast, And clear your sweet face from its scowl. If the water is cold and the comb hurts your head, And the soap has got into your eye, Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said? What good will it do you to cry? It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet, But only for kindness and care, That I wash you and dress you and make you look neat, And comb out your tanglesome hair. I don't mind the trouble, if you will not cry, But pay me for all with a kiss, That's right—take the towel and wipe your wet eye: I thought you'd be good after this. Jane Taylor. O POOR LITTLE ROBIN.Music O, poor little robin, so cold and so wet, Say, what are you doing to-day? The winter is coming, then what will you eat? And where are you going to stay? Your nest is so open, so cold and so poor, You never can live there again; O come, pretty robin, come into our door, We'll shelter you from the cold rain. We've clean beds to sleep in, and water to drink, And things very nice for your food; Come, come, pretty robin; O, how can you think To fly off again in the wood! The bird will not listen; but children so young, So hungry, so cold and so wet, May share in my cottage, and join in my song; And they shall have something to eat. O, HEAR THE CHICKENS.Music O hear the chickens pip, They will no longer keep Under their mother's wing; And shall I run and catch them? O no, I must not touch them, 'T would be a cruel thing. She cannot get away, She wishes them to stay Within the little coop: I wish that they were kinder, And not so slow to mind her, So swift away to hop. Poor hen, she walks about, And struggles to get out, She feels so very sad: I wish that ev'ry chicken Would stop its merry pippin', And run to make her glad. I'll never run away, Or stop to laugh and play, When mother calls me home: I'll quickly run to meet her, With kindest kisses greet her, Soon as she bids me come. CHERRIES ARE RIPE.Music Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, O, give the baby one; Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, But baby shall have none: Babies are too young to choose; Cherries are too sour to use; But by and by, Made in a pie, No one will them refuse. Up in the tree Robin I see, Picking one by one; Shaking his bill, Getting his fill, Down his throat they run: Robins want no cherry pie, Quick they eat and off they fly. My little child, Patient and mild, Surely will not cry. Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, But we will let them fall. Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, But bad for babies small Gladly follow mother's will, Be obedient, soft and still, Waiting awhile, Delighted you'll smile, And joyful eat your fill. HARK THE BELL.Music THE SABBATH. Hark, the bell, Hear it swell, Sounding through the woods and fields, Echoing o'er the hills and dales: 'Tis Sabbath day, Do not stray, Do not work or play. Hark, the bell, Hear it swell, Sounding through the woods and fields Echoing o'er the hills and dales. 'Tis Sabbath day, Don't delay, Learn the heavenly way. Hark, the bell, Hear it swell, Sounding through the woods and fields, Echoing o'er the hills and dales, 'Tis Sabbath day, Sing and pray, Listen and obey. BABY IS CRYING.[To be sung by older children.] Music Baby is crying, While mother is trying To make him be happy and still; How shall we relieve him, Or what shall we give him? A top or a whistle or bell? I wish he were quiet, He makes such a riot That nobody else can be heard; See how he dislikes her, And wickedly strikes her, O baby, how very absurd! Not love your dear mother And sister and brother, Who always are loving and true! O, be not so naughty, So cross and so haughty, While we are so tender of you. Dear mother must whip him, In quiet to keep him, If better he will not behave: Why won't he be kinder, And love her and mind her? Then all that trouble he'll save. BABY IS SICK.Music Baby is sick to-day, His face is very pale: He will not laugh or play, I wish that he were well. Shall we give him some meat, Some pudding, or some pie? What shall he have to eat? I hate to hear him cry. O, no, 'twould never do, Such things would make him worse; They are unwholesome too, For children well, like us. Babies love simple food, And we are very small; Rich things do us no good, We'll give him none at all. THE APPEAL.Music Father, father, kiss thy child, Hear my little song; When my mother sweetly smil'd— Who pass'd along? Father, father, kiss thy child, Thy affection prove; When my mother sweetly smil'd Her look was love. Father, father, kiss thy child, Do not make me cry: When my mother sweetly smil'd, Father pass'd me by. LOVE MY FATHER.Music Love my father so dear, Love my mother sincere. Dearest father and mother, Dearest sister and brother, They my love Shall prove. And my neighbors so near, My affection must share; Love my neighbors so kindly, Love myself, not too blindly; They my love Shall prove. Both the precious and vile, Those that hate me the while, With concern I would cherish, May their souls never perish, But believe And live. But my Father in heav'n, Who my blessings hath giv'n, And the Son, and the Spirit, Three in One, shall inherit Pure esteem, Supreme. SEE THE NAUGHTY KITTEN.Music See the naughty kitten, Playing with the knittin'; How she rolls the ball about? How she pulls the stitches out? Naughty, naughty kitten. Will you run and catch her? Will you try to teach her? Bring the pretty little book, See if in it she will look? Do not let her scratch you. What a naughty pussy, All the while so dosy, Pussy only mew'd and purr'd, Would not read a single word, Naughty, naughty pussy. Kittens know but little, Knitting yarn is brittle, Children should not do so ill, They should learn to read and spell— Not be full of prattle. O WHAT A NAUGHTY DOG.Music O, what a naughty dog is that, To quarrel with the pussy cat, About a little piece of meat That sister gave for them to eat; Pussy too, looks very shy, And lifts her back up very high. Hark, how he growls and barks at her, See how she raises up her fur; And now he snatches for the piece, And now she's spitting in his face, O for shame! poor dog and cat, To quarrel for a thing like that. Brothers and sisters should be kind, And no such vile examples mind, While dogs and cats may think it right To quarrel for their appetite: Children always should agree, Both when they eat and when they play. TO INFANT SCHOOL.Music To infant school, to infant school, I hear the little bell; O, come with me to infant school, And learn to read and spell. To infant school, to infant school, I do not like to wait; O, come with me to infant school, Or we shall be too late. To infant school, to infant school, We must not stop to play; O, come with me to infant school, And I will lead the way. To infant school, to infant school, We'll sweetly march and sing: O, come with me to infant school, The bell begins to ring. O DON'T HURT THE DOG.Music Oh! don't hurt the dog, poor honest old Tray; What good will it do you to drive him away? Kind treatment is justly his right; Remember how faithful he is to his charge, And barks at the rogues when we set him at large, And guards us by night and by day. If you are a boy and Tray but a beast, I think it should teach you one lesson at least, You ought to act better than he; And if without reason, or judgment, or sense, Tray does as we bid him and gives no offence How diligent Richard should be! Jane Taylor. TOLL THE BELL.Music THE FUNERAL. Toll the bell, Toll the bell, Ring the baby's knell; Low with the dead It must be laid. Baby, farewell. Toll the bell, Toll the bell, Ring the baby's knell; Pale is its face, And white its dress, Baby, farewell. Toll the bell, Toll the bell, Ring the baby's knell; Slow from the hall Moves the dark pall, Baby, farewell. Toll the bell, Toll the bell, Ring the baby's knell; Now earth to earth Neath the green turf, Baby, farewell. Toll the bell, Toll the bell, Ring the baby's knell; Beyond the skies Its spirit flies, Baby, farewell. |
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