Cousin Hatty's Hymns and Twilight Stories Part 9

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AUTUMN.

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Here's the purple aster, And the golden-rod, And the blue fringed gentian, By the meadow sod.

And the scarlet cardinal Grows beside the brook, And the yellow sunflower In some sheltered nook.

Maple boughs are covered With their foliage red, And the withered elm leaves On the ground lie dead.

And within the orchard, Heavy-laden trees Shower down the apples, With each pa.s.sing breeze.

So by these we know thee, Lovely autumn time, With thy deep blue heavens, And thy snowy rime.

And we gladly greet thee, With thy colors gay, Though thou tell'st us summer Hence hath fled away.

WINTER.

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With my breath so keen and chilling, I have stripped the branches bare; And my snow-flakes white are filling, Feather-like, the frosty air.

Coming o'er the lofty mountains, There I left a robe of white; I have locked the sparkling fountains, I have chained the river bright.

O'er the quiet valley winging, There I left my traces, too; Hark! the merry sleigh-bells ringing, With their music call on you.

I have come! The school-boy shouting, Joyfully brings out his sled; He has seen me, nothing doubting, As across the fields he sped.

I have come; but shall I find you Better than the former year?

If you've cast your faults behind you, I shall gladly greet you here.

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"GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD."

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Give us this day our daily bread; Oh! children, when you pray, And morn and night repeat these words, Think what it is you say.

You never asked a piece of bread, And had that wish denied; For food to eat, and some to spare, Has always been supplied.

But o'er the ocean, many a cheek With want grows thin and pale; And many suffer like the boy Of whom I tell this tale.

He lay upon some scattered straw,-- His strength was almost gone,-- And, in a feeble voice, he cried, "Give me three grains of corn!"

Three grains from out his jacket torn, His trembling mother drew, 'Twas all she had--she gave them him, Though she was starving too!

Be very grateful, children, then, For all that you enjoy; Remembering, as you say those words, The little Irish boy.

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WILLIE IN HEAVEN:

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"They tell me in a sunny land Our Willie is at play; And with him is a happy band Of children, good and gay.

"They say their s.h.i.+ning robes of white Are free from spot or stain; That there, where it is never night, They feel no grief or pain.

"But Willie shunned the stranger's face, When he was with us here; And in that new, though lovely place, He will be sad, I fear.

"He'll miss me,--though the fields are fair, His bright eyes will grow dim; He has no little sister there; O let me go to him!"

"Our Willie is not sad, my child; For in that heavenly home There dwells the blessed Saviour mild, Who bids the children come.

"He loves them with a purer love, A holier, than ours; And leads them in the fields above, Where spring undying flowers.

"If no ungentle words you speak, No wicked actions do, And if, with every day, you seek To be more kind and true,

"Then, by our darling Willie's side, And joined in heart and hand, Forevermore shall you abide, Among the angel band."

THE ANGELS.