[PART I. THE CRADLE.]— [PART II. THE NURSERY.]— [PART III. THE CLASS ROOM.]— [PART IV. THE ALTAR.]
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For additional Transcriber's Notes, [click here].
THE
MOTHER'S
NURSERY SONGS.
BY
THOMAS HASTINGS,
AUTHOR OF "DISSERTATION ON MUSICAL TASTE"—ONE OF THE COMPILERS OF "MUSICA SACRA"—"SPIRITUAL SONGS"—"INFANT MINSTREL," &c. &c.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY JOHN P. HAVEN,
148, NASSAU STREET.
——
1835.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by
JOHN P. HAVENS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
[PREFACE.]
The author of the following pages was one day conversing with a lady of some distinction, relative to the importance of teaching young children to sing, when a question arose—whether any thing could be done by the mother in this respect, during the period of the early infancy of her offspring? This inquiry, with the discussion that ensued, gave rise to the present publication.
Much, no doubt, can be done in early infancy, on the mere principle of imitation. Exercises for this purpose should be exceedingly simple; and, as far as possible, adapted to the infantile capacity. Great originality will hardly be expected in such a work as this: yet the materials here presented are, for the most part, such as have not before been published. A few extracts, have been furnished from the writings of Jane Taylor: And for many of the other little poems, the author is happy to acknowledge his obligations to several literary friends, among whom are the Rev. James Alexander, Professor of Rhetoric in Princeton College, New Jersey, Mrs. Sigourney, of Hartford, Connecticut, well known as the author of occasional pieces of great poetic merit, and Mrs. Brown, of Munson, Massachusetts, the writer of several interesting anonymous hymns now in general circulation.
The object of the work, as will be readily inferred from its special characteristics, is to aid mothers in attuning the voices of their infant offspring, and inspiring them with the love of vocal music. When the Savior was on earth young children cried hosanna: and ere he is again revealed in the glories of the latter day—his praise shall be perfected out of the mouth of babes and sucklings. Yet they must first be instructed; and this work should be commenced by the mother.
[INTRODUCTION.]
It is a point now universally admitted among practical musicians, that all children, the deaf and dumb excepted, may be taught to sing; and that the difference of natural talent in this respect is, probably, not greater, than in reference to other departments of education. The faculty in question is never truly instinctive, but always in a great measure acquired. Nature furnishes us with organs, and with powers of perception. Cultivation must do the rest.
The fact that so large a portion of the present generation are unable to sing, is not to be attributed to physical deficiencies, but to unfortunate circumstances in the history of early education. In countries where music is continually taught in the primary schools, the children, as a matter of course, all learn to sing: and the same experiment, wherever it has been tried in our own country, has led to the same happy result. This circumstance alone shows the importance of early cultivation. If music is neglected till years of maturity, it will, in the majority of instances, continue to be disregarded through life. Infancy is undoubtedly the most favorable period for commencing the work. The foundation must be laid then if distinguished excellence is ever afterwards to be attained.
Adults, with voices of a most unpromising character imaginable, have sometimes, it is true, been taught to sing. The thing in its nature is not impracticable, but it is very difficult. It requires time and labor and perseverance, such as few, comparatively, are found to possess. But with young children the task is neither difficult nor laborious. The principle chiefly employed in forming the voice is imitation. The child, under favorable circumstances, acquires the management of its voice in singing just as it acquires in speaking the accurate pronunciation of the mother tongue. In both cases it is the imitative pupil of its mother, or nurse. Mothers should think of this, and not neglect to stir up the musical gift that is within them. Though that gift should be small, it might at least suffice to initiate the listening child in the practice of an important art which would afterwards be more successfully prosecuted.
One who wishes to acquire practical skill as a player on a musical instrument, must of necessity begin by drawing forth such tones or executing such passages, as can be mastered with the greatest facility; deferring such as are more difficult to a later period of cultivation. For all the purposes of vocal training, the mother may regard her infant child as such an instrument, not doubting but perseverance will accomplish the desired object.
There is a special season in infancy when children are full of mimickry. Then, a great portion of their daily employment, while in perfect health, is like that of the mocking-bird, to be imitating every pleasant sound that falls within their hearing. Their earliest efforts in this respect will necessarily be rude, but, by constant practice, their talent is found to improve; while, at the same time they acquire an increasing fondness for the exercise. Does not nature evidently point out this period as the precise time for making musical impressions upon the child that will be strong and indelible?
Let no one suppose that the voice is necessarily injured by early cultivation. If the little one is not induced to sing too much or too loud for its general health, there will be nothing to fear. Its voice will improve much in proportion to its practice; and when, in subsequent years, its intonation becomes for a little period broken and discordant, it will be sure to be restored in due time. Every male child, sooner or later, must pass through such a change, as the unavoidable result of physical changes in the structure or conformation of its organs. Daily, moderate practice will be the obvious and certain remedy.
Previous to the period of infantile mimickry above mentioned, the affectionate mother will often have been soothing her child with the voice of song. When that period arrives, let her continue the practice in melodies as simple as those of numbers one and two, in part first of this work. And as the child begins in the smallest degree to play the mimic, let her in turn become the imitator, so far as to seize upon every note which has resemblance to music, and thus encourage the child to repeat its efforts. The mother may thus gradually draw out and form its voice for music, just as she teaches it the articulations of the native tongue. The latter process she well understands. She begins with the simplest syllables only, and as she proceeds with those that are more difficult, the exercise is carefully adapted to the gradual progress of the child. Nothing is forced. Every thing is made pleasant and amusing to the little pupil: and the mother at every step is so amply rewarded for her assiduity, as to feel that her labor is but another name for delightful recreation.
The same course in reference to singing would be rewarded with the same success. Though the mother should be quite ignorant of the simplest principles of the science; her skill in minstrelsy would suffice for the work immediately before her. Let her also frame some simple phrases of melody, that are very similar to those she notices in the mimickry of her child, gradually heightening their character as the child improves its vocal powers. All these exercises perhaps will be inarticulate; and in some cases the child will make more rapid progress in song than in speech.
Of all the articulations that fall from the unpractised lips of infancy, the first and perhaps the sweetest that ever greet the maternal ear, are those of ba, pa, na, ma, ta, da, followed afterwards by their compounds papa, mama, &c. The mother should not fail to set them to music in some such clauses as these that follow
[[Listen]]
A considerable portion of time, it is true, may elapse, before such clauses as these will be fully understood; and the child perhaps will incline to substitute other clauses in their place, and thus become its own composer. The only important point here, is to see that its tones are rendered musical.
In process of time let the musical passages be augmented somewhat after the following method, observing to sing them in a gutteral and not in a nasal manner:
[[Listen]]
[[Listen to 1st]] [[Listen to 2nd]] [[Listen to 3rd]]
The process from such passages as these, to such as constitute the first and second lullabys of this collection will be easy: and thenceforward less skill in adaptation will be required.
The preceding directions may suffice for the object before us: if followed with perseverance the child will begin to sing long before it is old enough to understand the rules of the art; and this, much to its own amusement and to the gratification of its affectionate parents. Some may doubt the practicability of the course here recommended; but certainly it is an easy one. Let them be persuaded to try it faithfully and perseveringly, and the author will consent to be responsible for its success.
[PART I.]
——
THE CRADLE.
As the songs under this head will be employed by the mother, chiefly in soothing her infant to sleep, or in mitigating its sufferings in hours of sickness or distress, it seems not necessary that all the language should be adapted to the infantile capacity. It may suffice that the words contain certain easy syllables or phrases, which, by their perpetual recurrence, make strong impressions upon the ear of the child. The exercise of singing should, however, be so managed as to afford pleasure to the child: for otherwise its taste will be injured.
LULLABY.
[[Listen]]
Lullaby, lullaby,
Do not wake and weep;
Softly in the cradle lie,
Sleep O, sleep.
Lullaby, lullaby,
Hear thy mother's voice;
Softly on her bosom lie,
Then she'll rejoice.
SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP.
[[Listen]]
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Near thee sits thy little brother,
Close beside thee is thy mother,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Israel's Shepherd watches o'er thee;
No rude danger lies before thee,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Germ of beauty, bud and blossom,
Rest upon thy Savior's bosom,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Life has many a raging billow—
Rest upon thy downy pillow,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
HUSHABY.
[[Listen]]
Hushaby, hushaby,
Baby, do not weep,
On thy downy pillow lie,
Softly, softly sleep.
Hushaby, hushaby,
Now thine eyelids close;
While thy mother sitting by,
Watches thy repose.
Hushaby, hushaby,
Think of no alarm,
Angel spirits round thee fly,
Guarding thee from harm.
Hushaby, hushaby,
Slumber sweet be given;
On thy downy pillow lie,
Precious gift from heav'n!
SLUMBER SWEET.
[[Listen]]
Slumber sweet
Thine eyelids greet
My infant daughter dear:
No footstep rude
Shall here intrude,
Nor stranger shall come near.
Slumber sweet
Thine eyelids greet
Within thy mother's arms;
She little tells
How feeling steals
O'er all thy rising charms.
Slumber sweet
Thine eyelids greet
And gentle dreams be thine;
To thee be given
The bliss of heav'n,
Where cherub angels shine.
SOFTLY IN THE CRADLE LIE.
[[Listen]]
Softly in the cradle lie,
Thy father's hope, thy mother's joy;
Sweetly rest in balmy sleep,
Do not wake to sigh and weep.
Softly in the cradle lie;
A mother's heart thy wants supply;
She can rest if thou repose,
Sweetly then thine eyelids close.
Softly in the cradle lie,
Frail bud of immortality;
Soon thy blossom may unfold
Fragrant mid the harps of gold.
O, DO NOT WAKE.
[[Listen]]
O, do not wake, sweet little one,
The night is dark and drear;
All that a mother could have done,
Has been perform'd with care.
The pillow's soft on which you rest,
And sweetly you have fed;
Still lean upon your mother's breast
Your weary little head.
O, do not wake, sweet little one,
Nor tremble with alarm;
The Hand unseen you live upon
Preserves you still from harm.
WELCOME, WELCOME.
[[Listen]]
Welcome, welcome, little stranger
To this busy world of care:
Nothing can thy peace endanger,
Nothing now thy steps ensnare.
Mother's heart is fill'd with pleasure,
All her feelings are awake;
Gladly would she, little treasure,
All thy pains and suff'rings take.
May'st thou, if design'd by heaven,
Future days and years to see,
Soothe her, make her passage even;
Let her heart rejoice in thee.
May her anxious cares and labors
Be repaid by filial love;
And thy soul be crown'd with favors
From the boundless source above.
Jane Taylor.
HOW GENTLY SHE SLEEPS.
[[Listen]]
How gently she sleeps,
How silent she keeps,
Her breath is as soft as the morn;
While every new grace
In the dear one I trace,
To my bosom in transport is borne.
No sorrow she knows,
This hour of repose,
Nor hunger nor thirst nor disease;
The world with its cares,
And temptations and snares,
Has never invaded her peace.
I've linger'd awhile,
To gaze on that smile,
So sweetly that plays on her lips;
Some innocent dream
Or some heavenly beam,
Is visiting her while she sleeps.
My lov'd one awake,
Thy slumberings break,
My daughter, 'tis time to arise;
Thou joy of my heart,
A lent blessing thou art,
To be given again to the skies.
O DEAR ONE.
[[Listen]]
FOR A CHILD DANGEROUSLY ILL.
O dear one, how sad is that moan,
How languid and sickly that eye;
My bosom responds to each groan,
And echos each deep-breathing sigh.
Those fluttering pulsations I trace,
The anguish that sits on thy brow,
The paleness that covers thy face,
Thy voice that is languid and low.
O dear one, how deep is the grief,
That withers my desolate heart;
Kind Heav'n bring thee speedy relief,
Or thou from thy mother wilt part.
O MY PRECIOUS LITTLE GEM.
[[Listen]]
FOR A FATHERLESS CHILD.
O my precious little gem,
While I hold thee to my breast,
May some heav'n inspiring dream
Soothe thy spirit into rest.
But thy mother's heart is riv'n,
Bitter anguish she must feel;
Nothing but the balm of heav'n,
Can her wounded spirit heal.
Dark the night and dread the hour
When thy father lay so low;
When he felt the monster's pow'r,
Who could tell thy mother's woe!
But, thou image of his love,
May'st in heav'n thy father see;
Ere his spirit soar'd above
'Twas his latest pray'r for thee.
SAFE SLEEPING.
[[Listen]]
Safe sleeping on its mother's breast,
The smiling babe appears
Now sweetly sinking into rest,
Now wash'd in sudden tears:
Hush, hush, my little baby dear,
There's nobody to hurt you here.
Without a tender mother's care
The little thing must die;
Its chubby hands too feeble are
One service to supply:
And not a tittle does it know
What kind of world it's come into.
Full many a summer sun must glow,
And lighten up the skies,
Before its tender limbs can grow
To any thing of size:
And all the while the mother's eye
Must every little want supply.
Then surely when each little limb,
Shall grow to healthy size;
And youth and manhood strengthen him
For toil and enterprize,
His mother's kindness is a debt
He never, never will forget.
Jane Taylor.
HUSH, HUSH.
[[Listen]]
FOR THE SPRING OF THE YEAR.
Hush, hush,
While flowrets blush,
This blossom must repose,
Thy mother's joy,
My infant boy—
No rival beauty[1] knows.
Hush, hush,
On every bush,
While birds are singing shrill;
My little child,
So sweet and mild,
Must now be soft and still.
Hush, hush,
While riv'lets gush,
Refrain thy rising tears,
For every grief,
We'll seek relief,
And soothe thy infant cares.
Hush, hush,
What feelings rush
Within a mother's breast;
Be this her pray'r
That thou may'st share
In heav'n's eternal rest.
WEEP NOT.
[[Listen]]
FOR A SICK CHILD.
Weep not, O little one,
Though thou art very ill,
For thou art not alone
Thy woes to feel.
Each sigh of thine will heave
An anxious mother's breast;
Each accent of thy grief
Will break her rest.
Each tear that thou dost shed
Will cause her grief to flow:
Her heart, since thine doth bleed,
Is bleeding too.
One Hand alone can heal;
That hand is ever near:
O who can doubt His skill—
Or gracious care!
MOTHER DEAR, THE BABY CRIES.
[[Listen]]
Mother dear, the baby cries,
Where is the nurse?
Every thing that sister tries
Makes him only worse.
Come, mother, come;
Dear mother, come!
Every thing that sister tries
Makes him only worse.
Mother dear, the baby cries,
Is he not ill?
Not a thing that brother tries
Ever keeps him still.
Come, mother, come,
Dear mother, come!
Not a thing that brother tries
Ever keeps him still.
Mother dear, the baby cries,
What shall we do?
In the cradle here he lies,
Waiting for you.
Come, mother, come,
Dear mother, come!
In the cradle here he lies
Waiting for you.
[PART II.]
——
THE NURSERY.
The songs of this department are introduced chiefly for children who are just beginning to entertain a few simple ideas and principles relative to things around them. The mother should commence with some of the easiest songs, and afterwards, as she proceeds with the more difficult ones, furnish the words with an occasional comment.
THE MERRY LARK.
[[Listen]]
Hark, hark,
The merry lark,
Beginning her morning song;
Robin redbreast
Is still in her nest
And silent is her tongue.
No, no,
It will not do,
Though Robin may lie in bed;
"Early and bright
"As soon as 'tis light"
My mother to me has said—
See, see
The busy bee
A going from flower to flower,
Carries a sting,
While under her wing
She holds her honied store.
So, so—
While busy too,
In study or useful work;
In many a sweet
Which we may meet
Some poison'd sting may lurk.
UP IN THE MORNING.
[[Listen]]
Up in the morning, up my child,
See the sun, how bright and mild;
See the dew-drops every one
Glist'ning in the sun:
Time for the dear one up to spring,
While the merry bells do ring.
Quick let me put your clean dress on,
For the night is past and gone;
Now another day is giv'n,
By our Lord in heav'n:
Now when the morning air you feel
To your heav'nly Keeper kneel.
Praise to the Lord for morning light,
Praise for safety through the night,
While the birds are singing all,
On the Lord we call:
Thus in the morning we will praise
Our Redeemer all our days.
DAWN OF DAY.
[[Listen]]
Come, arise from thy sleep,
Through the green bushes peep,
Birds sweetly are straying,
Their bright plumes displaying,
At dawn of day.
Let us breath the fresh air,
For the morning is fair,
And the forest is ringing
With merry birds singing
At dawn of day.
Come along for a talk
Or a sweet morning walk,
While the garden discloses
Its bright blushing roses,
At dawn of day.
But first to our King
Let us joyfully sing,
And praises be paying,
'Tis good to be praying
At dawn of day.
TIME TO ARISE.
[[Listen]]
Father and mother, 'tis time to arise,
Sun has arisen to brighten the skies;
Every bird is singing high;
Birds are glad, and so am I.
Merrily, merrily those in the tree,
Bluebird and robin are singing to me;
Round the window see them fly;
Birds are glad, and so am I.
Glad little robin, you never can know
Who is the Maker that fashion'd you so;
Yet you cannot weep or sigh;
Birds are glad, and so am I.
He who created the birds of the air,
Securely will keep me from trouble and care:
He has taught the birds to fly;
Birds are glad, and so am I.
O, WILD IS THY JOY.
[[Listen]]
O wild is thy joy,[2]
My affectionate boy,
What visions of fancy come o'er thee?
Thy spirit so proud,
Thy laughter so loud—
What transports are glit'ring before thee?
Dost think of a day
Thou mayst ramble and play,
O'er the meadows, the forests, and mountains?
Or in the sweet vale,
'Mong the lilies so pale,
By the side of the rills and the fountains?
Some glim'rings of thought
Perchance thou hast caught,
While thy spirit within thee rejoices,
Some simple delight,
Some object of sight
Or sound in the mingling of voices.
O, brief is thy mirth,
For the visions of earth,
Like the shadows of noon-day, are flying:
But joys that are pure,
Shall forever endure,
Though earth and its transports are dying.
LITTLE JACK.
[[Listen]]
There was one Little Jack,
Not very long back,
And 'tis said to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With his hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.
His kind friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often and well did they scour;
But all was in vain
He was dirty again
Before they had done it an hour.
When to wash he was sent
He reluctantly went
With water to splash himself o'er;
But he left the black streaks
All over his cheeks
And made them look worse than before.
All the idle and bad
May much like this lad,
Be dirty and black, to be sure:
But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.
Jane Taylor.
AH, WHY WILL MY DEAR.
[[Listen]]
WASHING AND DRESSING.
Ah, why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss:
I can't even kiss her without.
You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd:
But would you be dirty and foul?
Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast,
And clear your sweet face from its scowl.
If the water is cold and the comb hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,[3]
Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said?
What good will it do you to cry?
It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you and dress you and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.
I don't mind the trouble, if you will not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss,
That's right—take the towel and wipe your wet eye:
I thought you'd be good after this.
Jane Taylor.
O POOR LITTLE ROBIN.
[[Listen]]
O, poor little robin, so cold and so wet,
Say, what are you doing to-day?
The winter is coming, then what will you eat?
And where are you going to stay?
Your nest is so open, so cold and so poor,
You never can live there again;
O come, pretty robin, come into our door,
We'll shelter you from the cold rain.
We've clean beds to sleep in, and water to drink,
And things very nice for your food;
Come, come, pretty robin; O, how can you think
To fly off again in the wood!
The bird will not listen; but children so young,
So hungry, so cold and so wet,
May share in my cottage, and join in my song;
And they shall have something to eat.
O, HEAR THE CHICKENS.
[[Listen]]
O hear the chickens pip,
They will no longer keep
Under their mother's wing;
And shall I run and catch them?
O no, I must not touch them,
'T would be a cruel thing.
She cannot get away,
She wishes them to stay
Within the little coop:
I wish that they were kinder,
And not so slow to mind her,
So swift away to hop.
Poor hen, she walks about,
And struggles to get out,
She feels so very sad:
I wish that ev'ry chicken
Would stop its merry pippin',
And run to make her glad.
I'll never run away,
Or stop to laugh and play,
When mother calls me home:
I'll quickly run to meet her,
With kindest kisses greet her,
Soon as she bids me come.
CHERRIES ARE RIPE.
[[Listen]]
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
O, give the baby one;
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But baby shall have none:
Babies are too young to choose;
Cherries are too sour to use;
But by and by,
Made in a pie,
No one will them refuse.
Up in the tree
Robin I see,
Picking one by one;
Shaking his bill,
Getting his fill,
Down his throat they run:
Robins want no cherry pie,
Quick they eat and off they fly.
My little child,
Patient and mild,
Surely will not cry.
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But we will let them fall.
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But bad for babies small
Gladly follow mother's will,
Be obedient, soft and still,
Waiting awhile,
Delighted you'll smile,
And joyful eat your fill.
HARK THE BELL.
[[Listen]]
THE SABBATH.
Hark, the bell,
Hear it swell,
Sounding through the woods and fields,
Echoing o'er the hills and dales:
'Tis Sabbath day,
Do not stray,
Do not work or play.
Hark, the bell,
Hear it swell,
Sounding through the woods and fields
Echoing o'er the hills and dales.
'Tis Sabbath day,
Don't delay,
Learn the heavenly way.
Hark, the bell,
Hear it swell,
Sounding through the woods and fields,
Echoing o'er the hills and dales,
'Tis Sabbath day,
Sing and pray,
Listen and obey.
BABY IS CRYING.
[To be sung by older children.]
[[Listen]]
Baby is crying,
While mother is trying
To make him be happy and still;
How shall we relieve him,
Or what shall we give him?
A top or a whistle or bell?
I wish he were quiet,
He makes such a riot
That nobody else can be heard;
See how he dislikes her,
And wickedly strikes her,
O baby, how very absurd!
Not love your dear mother
And sister and brother,
Who always are loving and true!
O, be not so naughty,
So cross and so haughty,
While we are so tender of you.
Dear mother must whip him,[4]
In quiet to keep him,
If better he will not behave:
Why won't he be kinder,
And love her and mind her?
Then all that trouble he'll save.
BABY IS SICK.
[[Listen]]
Baby is sick to-day,
His face is very pale:
He will not laugh or play,
I wish that he were well.
Shall we give him some meat,
Some pudding, or some pie?
What shall he have to eat?
I hate to hear him cry.
O, no, 'twould never do,
Such things would make him worse;
They are unwholesome too,
For children well, like us.
Babies love simple food,
And we are very small;
Rich things do us no good,
We'll give him none at all.
THE APPEAL.
[[Listen]]
Father, father, kiss thy child,
Hear my little song;
When my mother sweetly smil'd—
Who pass'd along?
Father, father, kiss thy child,
Thy affection prove;
When my mother sweetly smil'd
Her look was love.
Father, father, kiss thy child,
Do not make me cry:
When my mother sweetly smil'd,
Father pass'd me by.
LOVE MY FATHER.
[[Listen]]
Love my father so dear,
Love my mother sincere.
Dearest father and mother,
Dearest sister and brother,
They my love
Shall prove.
And my neighbors so near,
My affection must share;
Love my neighbors so kindly,
Love myself, not too blindly;
They my love
Shall prove.
Both the precious and vile,
Those that hate me the while,
With concern I would cherish,
May their souls never perish,
But believe
And live.
But my Father in heav'n,
Who my blessings hath giv'n,
And the Son, and the Spirit,
Three in One, shall inherit
Pure esteem,
Supreme.
SEE THE NAUGHTY KITTEN.
[[Listen]]
See the naughty kitten,
Playing with the knittin';
How she rolls the ball about?
How she pulls the stitches out?
Naughty, naughty kitten.
Will you run and catch her?
Will you try to teach her?
Bring the pretty little book,
See if in it she will look?
Do not let her scratch you.
What a naughty pussy,
All the while so dosy,
Pussy only mew'd and purr'd,
Would not read a single word,
Naughty, naughty pussy.
Kittens know but little,
Knitting yarn is brittle,
Children should not do so ill,
They should learn to read and spell—
Not be full of prattle.
O WHAT A NAUGHTY DOG.
[[Listen]]
O, what a naughty dog is that,
To quarrel with the pussy cat,
About a little piece of meat
That sister gave for them to eat;
Pussy too, looks very shy,
And lifts her back up very high.
Hark, how he growls and barks at her,
See how she raises up her fur;
And now he snatches for the piece,
And now she's spitting in his face,
O for shame! poor dog and cat,
To quarrel for a thing like that.
Brothers and sisters should be kind,
And no such vile examples mind,
While dogs and cats may think it right
To quarrel for their appetite:
Children always should agree,
Both when they eat and when they play.
TO INFANT SCHOOL.
[[Listen]]
