LITTLE HANDS.

LITTLE hands! that, weak or strong,
Have still to serve or rule so long,
Have still so long to give or ask;
I, who so much with book and pen
Have toiled among my fellow men,
Am weary, thinking of your task.

April 16th.

CHILD AND LILIES.

A CHILD is lying fast asleep

Longfellow.

Down where the lilies grow,

And the lilies nod and peep,
Quite pleased to have him so.
And the lilies softly say,

"We must not sleep, you know,
Lest he wake and run away,

Fast as little legs can go."

Poems written for a Child.

April 17th.

THE SICK CHILD.

BIRD, are you singing to me,

Perched on my own window-sill?

Can you, in your little brain,

Knowledge have and thought retain,

That I am lying here in pain,

Weary, weak, and ill?

Poems written for a Child.

SPRING.

PRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;

SP

Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring;

Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing.

The palm and May make country houses gay,

Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, to witta-woo!

T. Nash.

U

April 19th.

VIOLETS.

NDER the green hedges after the snow,
There do the dear little violets grow,
Hiding their modest and beautiful heads
Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.
Sweet as the roses and blue as the sky,
Down there do the dear little violets lie.

J. Moultrie.

April 20th.

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.

NDER the greenwood tree,

UND

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall we see no enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Shakespeare.

ADELAIDE.

SING, I pray, a little song,

Mother dear!

Neither sad nor very long:

It is for a little maid,

Golden tressed Adelaide !

Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear,

Mother dear!

Barry Cornwall.

“WH

April 220.

PRETTY MAGGIE.

HERE go you, pretty Maggie,
Where go you in the rain?”

"I go to ask the sailors

Who sailed the Spanish main,
If they have seen my Willie,
If he'll come back to me-
It is so sad to have him

A-sailing on the sea!”

American,

April 230.

A SONG.

I HAVE placed a golden ring upon the hand

Of the blithest little lady in the land!

When the early roses scent the sunny air,

She shall gather white ones to tremble in her hair! Hasten, happy roses, come to me by May,—

In your folded petals lies my wedding-day!

T. B. Aldrich.