Hymns, Songs, and Fables, for Young People | Page 6

it is the happy spring?No naughty thing I'll do;?I would not be the only thing?That is not happy, too.
SPRING.
Hark! the little birds are singing,--?Winter's gone and summer's near;?See, the tender grass is springing,?And the flowers will soon be here.
Who made the winter and the spring??Who painted all the flowers??Who taught the little birds to sing,?And made these hearts of ours?
O, 'tis God! how good he is!?He does every blessing give;?All this happy world is his,--?Let us love him while we live.
THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD-NIGHT.
The sun is hidden from our sight,?The birds are sleeping sound;?'Tis time to say to all, "Good night!"?And give a kiss all round.
Good night! my father, mother, dear,?Now kiss your little son;?Good night! my friends, both far and near,?Good night to every one.
Good night! ye merry, merry birds,?Sleep well till morning light;?Perhaps if you could sing in words,?You would have said, "Good night!"
To all my pretty flowers, good night!?You blossom while I sleep;?And all the stars, that shine so bright,?With you their watches keep.
The moon is lighting up the skies,?The stars are sparkling there;?'Tis time to shut our weary eyes,?And say our evening prayer.
THE SHEPHERD'S SABBATH-SONG.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.
This is the Sabbath day!?In the wide field I am alone.?Hark! now one morning bell's sweet tone,--?Now it has died away.
Kneeling I worship Thee;?Sweet dread doth o'er my spirit steal,?From whispering sounds of those who kneel,?Unseen, to pray with me.
Around and far away,?So clear and solemn is the sky,?It seems all opening to my eye;?This is the Sabbath day!
TO SPRING.
Hail! reviving, joyous Spring,?Smiling through thy veil of showers;?Birds and brooks thy welcome sing,--?Haste, and waken all thy flowers.
Hark! a sweet pervading sound!?From the breathing, moving earth?Life is starting all around,?Sending joy and fragrance forth.
O'er the oak's gigantic form?Blossoms hang their drapery;?Branches that defied the storm?Now are full of melody.
There is not a silent thing?In this joyous company;?Woods, and hills, and valleys ring?With a shout of jubilee.
Wake, my spirit! art thou still??Senseless things have found a voice;?Shall this throbbing heart be still,?When all nature cries, "Rejoice"?
Wake, come forth, my bounding soul!?Join the universal glee,?Yield to nature's kind control,?Catch her heavenly harmony.
Join the grateful, happy throng,?Cast each selfish care away;?Birds and brooks shall tune your song;?This is nature's holiday.
HER VOYAGE IS AT AN END.
Hushed was the ocean's stormy roar,?Still as an infant's joy;?There sat upon the rocky shore?A father and his boy.
Far off they saw a gallant ship,?It came from foreign lands;?The boy began to dance and skip,?And clap his little hands.
Her wished-for port is near at hand,?The ship is hastening on;?They hear the birds sing on the land;?Her voyage is nearly done.
The boy's glad notes, his shouts of glee,?The rocks with music fill;?But now he cries,--"See, father, see!?The ship is standing still."
Her masts are trembling from the shock.?Her white sails all descend;?The ship has struck upon a rock,--?Her voyage is at an end.
The sailors hurry to and fro,?All crowded is the deck;?She struggles hard,--she's free;--O, no!?She is indeed a wreck.
The boy's young heart is full of grief:?"Father! what will she do??Let's take the boat to her relief,?O, quickly let us go!"
They went,--and many a stronger hand?Its ready succour gave;?They brought the crew all safe to land,?And the cargo tried to save.
The night comes on, the night is dark,?More dark the billows seem;?They break against the ship, and hark!?The seamew's mournful scream.
The boy upon his pillow lies,?In sweet repose he sinks;?And, as he shuts his weary eyes,?On the poor ship he thinks.
The sun shines o'er the watery main?As it did the day before;?The father and his son again?Are seated on the shore.
With the western wind full many a boat?Their white sails gayly fill,?They lightly o'er the blue waves float,--?But the gallant ship is still.
The sailors now the mournful wreck?Of masts and rigging strip;?The waves are playing o'er the deck?Of the sad and ruined ship.
A crow upon the top branch stood?Of a lone and blasted tree;?He seemed to look upon the flood?With a gloomy sympathy.
The boy now looks up at the bird,?At the sinking vessel now;?He does not speak a single word.?But a shade is on his brow.
Now slowly comes a towering wave,?And sweeps with triumph on;?It bears her to her watery grave,--?The gallant ship is gone.
Hushed is the ocean's stormy roar,?Still as an infant's joy;?The father sits upon the shore?In silence with his boy.
Cohasset Shore, July, 1831.
CHARLEY AND HIS FATHER.
A BALLAD.
The birds are flown away,?The flowers are dead and gone,?The clouds look cold and gray?Around the setting sun.
The trees with solemn sighs?Their naked branches swing;?The winter winds arise,?And mournfully they sing.
Upon his father's knee?Was Charley's happy place,?And very thoughtfully?He looked up in his face;
And these his simple words:--?"Father, how cold it blows!?What 'comes of all the birds?Amidst the storms and snows?"
"They fly far, far away?From storms, and snows, and rain;?But, Charley dear, next May?They'll all come back again."
"And will