Verse and Prose for Beginners in Reading | Page 7

as kings.
THE SUN'S TRAVELS.
The sun is not abed, when I?At night upon my pillow lie;?Still round the earth his way he takes,?And morning after morning makes.
While here at home, in shining day,?We round the sunny garden play,?Each little Indian sleepy-head?Is being kissed and put to bed.
And when at eve I rise from tea,?Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;?And all the children in the West?Are getting up and being dressed.?MY BED IS A BOAT.
My bed is like a little boat;?Nurse helps me in when I embark;?She girds me in my sailor's coat?And starts me in the dark.
At night, I go on board and say?Good-night to all my friends on shore;?I shut my eyes and sail away?And see and hear no more.
And sometimes things to bed I take,?As prudent sailors have to do;?Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake,?Perhaps a toy or two.
All night across the dark we steer;?But when the day returns at last,?Safe in my room, beside the pier,?I find my vessel fast.
THE SWING.
How do you like to go up in a swing,?Up in the air so blue??Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing?Ever a child can do!?Up in the air and over the wall,?Till I can see so wide,?Rivers and trees and cattle and all?Over the countryside--
Till I look down on the garden green,?Down on the roof so brown--?Up in the air I go flying again,?Up in the air and down!

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John?Guard the bed that I lie on!?Four corners to my bed,?Four angels round my head;?One to watch, one to pray,?And two to bear my soul away.

Mistress Mary, quite contrary,?How does your garden grow??With cockle-shells, and silver bells,?And pretty maids all in a row.

Old King Cole?Was a merry old soul,?And a merry old soul was he;?He called for his pipe,?And he called for his bowl,?And he called for his fiddlers three.?Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,?And a very fine fiddle had he;?Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers.?Oh, there's none so rare,?As can compare?With old King Cole and his fiddlers three!
MOTHER HUBBARD AND HER DOG
Old Mother Hubbard?Went to the cupboard,?To get her poor dog a bone;?But when she came there,?The cupboard was bare,?And so the poor dog had none.
She went to the baker's?To buy him some bread;?But when she came back,?The poor dog was dead.
She went to the joiner's?To buy him a coffin;?But when she came back.?The poor dog was laughing.
She took a clean dish?To get him some tripe;?But when she came back,?He was smoking his pipe.
She went to the fishmonger's?To buy him some fish;?And when she came back,?He was licking the dish.
She went to the ale-house?To get him some beer;?But when she came back,?The dog sat in a chair.
She went to the tavern?For white wine and red;?But when she came back,?The dog stood on his head.
She went to the hatter's?To buy him a hat;?But when she came back,?He was feeding the cat.
She went to the barber's?To buy him a wig;?But when she came back,?He was dancing a jig.
She went to the fruiterer's?To buy him some fruit;?But when she came back,?He was playing the flute.
She went to the tailor's?To buy him a coat;?But when she came back,?He was riding a goat.
She went to the cobbler's?To buy him some shoes;?But when she came back,?He was reading the news.
She went to the seamstress?To buy him some linen;?But when she came back,?The dog was spinning.
She went to the hosiers?To buy him some hose;?But when she came back,?He was dressed in his clothes.
The dame made a curtsy,?The dog made a bow;?The dame said, Your servant,?The dog said; Bow, wow.
RUNAWAY BROOK.
"Stop, stop, pretty water!"?Said Mary one day,?To a frolicsome brook,?That was running away.
"You run on so fast!?I wish you would stay;?My boat and my flowers?You will carry away.
"But I will run after:?Mother says that I may;?For I would know where?You are running away."
So Mary ran on;?But I have heard say,?That she never could find?Where the brook ran away.
BED IN SUMMER.
In winter I get up at night?And dress by yellow candle-light.?In summer, quite the other way,?I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see?The birds still hopping on the tree,?Or hear the grown-up people's feet?Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,?When all the sky is clear and blue,?And I should like so much to play,?To have to go to bed by day?
AT THE SEASIDE
When I was down beside the sea?A wooden spade they gave to me?To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup,?In every hole the sea came up,?Till it could come no more.
THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.
When o'er the silent seas alone,?For days and nights we've cheerless gone,?Oh, they who've felt it know how sweet,?Some sunny morn a sail to meet.
Sparkling at once is ev'ry eye,?"Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!" our joyful cry;?While answering back the