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But the best is probably "Grinn & Barrett."
Walter G. Doty [1876-
A LITTLE PAGE'S SONG (13th Century)
G.o.d's lark at morning I would be!
I'd set my heart within a tree Close to His bed and sing to Him Right merrily A sunrise hymn.
At night I'd be G.o.d's troubadour!
Beneath His starry walls I'd pour Across the moat such roundelays He'd love me sure-- And maybe praise!
William Alexander Percy [1885-
HOW THE LITTLE KITE LEARNED TO FLY
"I never can do it," the little kite said, As he looked at the others high over his head; "I know I should fall if I tried to fly."
"Try," said the big kite; "only try!
Or I fear you never will learn at all."
But the little kite said, "I'm afraid I'll fall."
The big kite nodded: "Ah well, goodby; I'm off;" and he rose toward the tranquil sky.
Then the little kite's paper stirred at the sight, And trembling he shook himself free for flight.
First whirling and frightened, then braver grown, Up, up he rose through the air alone, Till the big kite looking down could see The little one rising steadily.
Then how the little kite thrilled with pride, As he sailed with the big kite side by side!
While far below he could see the ground, And the boys like small spots moving round.
They rested high in the quiet air, And only the birds and the clouds were there.
"Oh, how happy I am!" the little kite cried, "And all because I was brave, and tried."
Unknown
THE b.u.t.tERFLY AND THE BEE
Methought I heard a b.u.t.terfly Say to a laboring bee; "Thou hast no colors of the sky On painted wings like me."
"Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colors bright and rare,"
With mild reproof, the bee replies, "Are all beneath my care."
"Content I toil from morn till eve, And, scorning idleness, To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress."
William Lisle Bowles [1762-1850]
THE b.u.t.tERFLY
The b.u.t.terfly, an idle thing, Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing, As do the bee and bird; Nor does it, like the prudent ant, Lay up the grain for times of want, A wise and cautious h.o.a.rd.
My youth is but a summer's day: Then like the bee and ant I'll lay A store of learning by; And though from flower to flower I rove, My stock of wisdom I'll improve, Nor be a b.u.t.terfly.
Adelaide O'Keefe [1776-1855]
MORNING
The lark is up to meet the sun, The bee is on the wing, The ant her labor has begun, The woods with music ring.
Shall birds and bees and ants be wise, While I my moments waste?
Oh, let me with the morning rise, And to my duties haste.
Why should I sleep till beams of morn Their light and glory shed?
Immortal beings were not born To waste their time in bed.
Jane Taylor [1783-1824]
b.u.t.tERCUPS AND DAISIES
b.u.t.tercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers; Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours, While the trees are leafless, While the fields are bare, b.u.t.tercups and daisies Spring up here and there.
Ere the snow-drop peepeth, Ere the crocus bold, Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold,-- Somewhere on the sunny bank b.u.t.tercups are bright; Somewhere midst the frozen gra.s.s Peeps the daisy white.
Little hardy flowers, Like to children poor, Playing in their st.u.r.dy health By their mother's door.
Purple with the north-wind, Yet alert and bold; Fearing not, and caring not, Though they be a-cold!
What to them is winter!
What are stormy showers!
b.u.t.tercups and daisies Are these human flowers!
He who gave them hards.h.i.+ps And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear.
Mary Howitt [1799-1888]
