Phebe, The Blackberry Girl | Page 2

from you.

Pray take them, they are all your own.
And take the little basket, too.
"Have you forgot the little girl
You last year gave a bonnet to?


Perhaps you have--but ever will
That little girl remember you.
"And ever since, I've been to church,
For much do I delight to go;

And there I learn that works of love
Are what all children ought to
do.
"So then I thought within myself,
That pretty basket, Billy wove,

I'll fill with fruit for tha dear Miss,
For sure 'twill be a work of love.
"And so one morning up I rose,
While yet the fields were wet with
dew,
And pick'd the nicest I could find,
And brought them, fresh and sweet,
for you.
"I know the gift is small indeed,
For such a lady to receive;
But still
I hope you'll not refuse
All that poor Phebe has to give."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Good Children learning their Hymn.]
GOOD CHILDREN.
How lovely, how charming the sight,
When children their Savior
obey!
The angels look down with delight,
This beautiful scene to
survey.
Little Samuel was holy and good;
Obadiah served God from his
youth,
And Timothy well understood,
From a child, the Scripture of
truth.
But Jesus was better than they:
From a child he was spotless and pure,

His parents he loved to obey,
And God's perfect will to endure.
Like Samuel, Lord, I would be,
Obadiah and Timothy, too;
And oh!

grant thy help unto me,
The steps of my Lord to pursue.
Make me humble, and holy, and mild,
From the wicked constrain me
to flee,
And then though I am but a child,
My soul shall find favor
of thee.
[Illustration]
POOR CRAZY ROBERT
Poor Robert is crazy, his hair is turn'd gray,
His beard has grown long,
and hangs down to his breast;
Misfortune has taken his reason away,

His heart has no comfort, his head has no rest.
Poor man, it would please me to soften thy woes,
To soothe thy
affliction, and yield thee support;
But see through the village,
wherever he goes,
The cruel boys follow, and turn him to sport.
'Tis grievous to sue how the pitiless mob
Run round him and mimic
his mournful complaint,
[Illustration: Poor Crazy Robert.]
And try to provoke him, and call him old Bob,
And hunt him about
till he's ready to faint.
But ah! wicked children, I fear they forget
That God does their cruel
diversion behold;
And that in his book dreadful curses are writ,
For
those who shall mock at the poor and the old.
Poor Robert, thy troubles will shortly be o'er,
Forget in the grave thy
misfortunes will be;
But God will his vengeance assuredly pour
On
those wicked children who persecute thee.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Pet Lamb.]

THE PET LAMB.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice: it
said, Drink, pretty creature,
drink!
And, looking o'er the hedge,
before me I espied
A snow-white mountain Lamb with a maiden at its

side.
No other sheep were near; the Lamb was all alone,
And by a slender
cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little
maiden
kneel,
While to that mountain Lamb she gave its evening

meal.
The Lamb, while from her hand he thus his
supper took,
Seemed to
feast with head and ears; and his tail
with pleasure shook.
Drink,
pretty creature, drink, she said in such a tone
That I almost received
her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty
rare!
I watched
them with delight, they were a lovely
pair:
Now with her empty can
the maiden turned away;
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps
did she
stay.
Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that
shady place
I
unobserved could see the workings of her face;
If nature to her tongue
could measured numbers
bring,
Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that
little maid
might sing!
What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at
thy cord?
Is it not
well with thee? well both for bed and
board?
Thy plot of grass is
soft, and green as grass
can be;
Rest, little young one, rest; what is't
that aileth
thee?
What is it thou wouldst seek? what is wanting to
thy heart?
Thy
limbs are they not strong? And beautiful
thou art:

This grass is
tender grass; these flowers they
have no peers;
And that green corn

all day is rustling in thy ears!
If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woolen
chain;
This
beech is standing by, its covert thou canst
gain!
For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st
not fear;
The
rain and storm are things that scarcely can
come here.
Rest little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father
found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but
thou wert owned
by none,
And thy mother from thy side
forevermore was
gone.
[Illustration]
He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee
home!
A blessed
day for thee! then whither wouldst thou
roam?
A faithful nurse thou
hast; the dam that did thee
yearn
Upon the mountain tops no kinder
could have
been.
Thou knowest that twice a day I brought thee in
this can
Fresh
water from the brook,