Child Songs of Cheer | Page 4

torrents from the tip
Of the gable-peak, and drip
In the
garden-bed, and fill
All the cuckoo-cups, and pour

More and more
In the tulip-bowls, and still
Overspill
In a crystal tide until
Every yellow daffodil
Is flooded
to its golden rim, and brimming o'er and o'er!
Then as gently as the low
Muffled whir of robin wings,
Or a sweep
of silver strings,
Even so,
Take your airy April flight
Through the merry April light,

And melt into a mist of rainy music as you go!
FAIRIES
Grandfather says that sometimes,
When stars are twinkling and
A
new moon shines, there come times
When folks see fairy-land!
So when there's next a new moon,
I mean to watch all night!

Grandfather says a blue moon
Is best for fairy light,
And in a peach-bloom, maybe,
If I look I shall see
A little fairy
baby
No bigger than a bee!
THE LITTLE FIR-TREES
Hey! little evergreens,
Sturdy and strong!
Summer and autumn time

Hasten along;
Harvest the sunbeams, then,
Bind them in sheaves,

Range them, and change them
To tufts of green leaves.
Delve in
the mellow mold,
Far, far below,
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!
Up, up so airily
To the blue sky,
Lift up your leafy tips
Stately
and high;
Clasp tight your tiny cones,
Tawny and brown;
By and
by, buffeting
Rains will pelt down;
By and by, bitterly
Chill

winds will blow;
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!
Gather all uttermost
Beauty, because,--
Hark, till I tell it now!

How Santa Claus,
Out of the northern land,
Over the seas,
Soon
shall come seeking you,
Evergreen trees!
Seek you with reindeer
soon,
Over the snow;
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!
What if the maples flare
Flaunting and red,
You shall wear waxen
white
Tapers instead!
What if now, otherwhere,
Birds are
beguiled,
You shall yet nestle
The little Christ-child!
Ah! the
strange splendor
The fir-trees shall know!
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!
THE WREN-HOUSE
Yesterday I took my saw
And some bits of wood,
And I made a
little house
Nicely as I could.
I put on a mossy-green
Little pointed roof,
And I cut a tiny door

That is pussy-proof.
For I hope some little wrens
To our yard will come
And will choose
my little house
For their little home.
I shall hang it in the boughs
Of the apple-tree,
And I'm sure as rent

for it
They will sing to me!
THE BABY'S RIDE
Chee! Chee! Chickadee!
Sing-time and sun!
Aye, aye, baby-bye,

Springtime has begun!

In the little willow cart,
On a downy bed,
Pretty parasol of silk

Swinging overhead,
Let us go along the lane
Where a baby sees
Mighty tufts of grass,
and weeds
Tall as forest trees!
Bluebird on the apple-bough,
Sing and sing and sing!
Sing your
very sweetest now
For babyhood and spring!

"Bah! Bah!" from the pasture,
And "Caw! Caw!" from the crow,

And bleating from the little calf
That has not learned to low.

Apple-buds, apple-buds breaking apart,
The baby looks upward with
love-laden gaze;
Oh, shower some petals down here in his cart,
One
honey-sweet cluster of pretty pink sprays!
Apple-buds, apple-buds, scornful and too
Vain of your loveliness,
stay where you are!
The cheeks of the baby are pinker than you,

And finer and softer and sweeter by far!

See the pretty little lambs,
How they frisk and play!
See their silky
fleeces shine
White as buds in May!
White as are the fleecy clouds
Softly blowing by--
What if they

were little lambs
Playing in the sky?

Robin on the peach-bough,
Swinging overhead,
Sing a little song
and say
Why is your breast so red?
Why is your voice so sweet, and
Your song so merry, say?
And
wherefore do you spread your wings
And quickly fly away?

Ho, ho! see the queer little prints there
That cover the road, baby,
look!
At the web-footed tangle that hints where
The ducks have
gone down to the brook!
The Muscovy mammas that waddled
Zigzag, you can trace in their
tracks,
And the dear little ducklings that toddled
And tumbled
sometimes on their backs!

Buttercup, buttercup, buttercup gold,
O give us a handful of riches to
hold!
Ho, ho! laughs the baby, and grasps in his glee
His wealth, but soon
shows what a spend-thrift is he!
--Nay, nay, he is king, though he
never was crowned,
And royally scatters his gold on the ground!

Bough of the willow-tree
Over the brook,
Down darts a kingfisher,

Look, baby, look!
Back on the willow-bough,
Fishing is done;
Happy and nappy now

There in the sun.

Happy and nappy the baby is, too,
Softly his eyelids droop over the
blue,
Golden his curls on the white pillow lie,
Sleep, baby, sleep,
baby, hush-a-by-bye.
AN INDIAN RAID
Did you see some Indians passing,
Just a short while back?
Looks
as if they must be massing
For a fierce attack!
Buckskin fringes, turkey-feather
Huge head-dresses and
Bows and
arrows, altogether
Quite a frightful band!
From the lilac-bushes springing,
See them rushing! Ugh!
Awful
war-whoops wildly ringing!
There'll be scalping, too!
In their fearful frenzy leaping,
It is very plain
Soon around us
they'll be heaping
Mountains of the slain!
Soon their victims will be falling--
But, above the noise,
Hark! I
hear somebody calling,
"Come to dinner, boys!"
THE FIRST SLEIGH-RIDE
O happy time of fleecy rime
And falling flakes, and O
The glad
surprise in baby eyes
That never saw the snow!
Down shining ways the flying