Cousin Hatty's Hymns and Twilight Stories Part 6

The happiest hour of all the day To me, is always last; When both my studies and my play, My walks and work, are past.

When round the bright warm fire we come, With hearts so light and free, And all within our happy home Are talking quietly,

Then, by my dear, kind father's side I sit, or on his knee, And then I tell him I have tried His gentle girl to be.

And then he says the little child Is loved by every one, Who has a temper sweet and mild And smiling as the sun.

Let me do always as I should, Nor vex my father dear; And let me be as glad and good As he would have me here.

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THE WRONG STORY.

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"My little Edward, how could you Tell me a thing that was not true?

And make me feel thus grieved and sad To find I have a child so bad?

"And then, to do a deed so mean, And wish by that yourself to screen!

Would you have had me blame poor Tray, And send him from the fire away?

"O! never, when you've disobeyed, Or by your mischief trouble made, Think that a wicked act is right Because you hide it from my sight.

"It will be always seen by One, Who knows each wrong that you have done; And I shall know it too, no doubt, For sin must always find you out.

"I cannot let you here to-day With me and little sisters stay; But you must go up stairs alone, Till you a better boy have grown."

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THE BALLAD.

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"Come hither, little brothers, And listen now to me, And I will read a story To both, while at my knee."

Then Johnnie's flag hung idly, And Charlie hushed his drum; To hear sweet Mary's story The mimic soldiers come.

"'Tis of a boy no larger, My little Charles, than you; But he had been in battle, And all its terrors knew.

"His father was a captain; He had no child beside; And while he was an infant His mother dear had died.

"And so from camp to battle, From fight to camp again, Had lived, this little hero, On many a b.l.o.o.d.y plain.

"One day, when shouts were loudest Upon the reddened field,-- When came the victor's war-cry, 'See! see! they fly! they yield!'--

"Forth then, to seek his father, He went with eager joy; But with a chance ball wounded, Low lay the fearless boy!

"The son of a brave chieftain, He made no sigh or groan; His father's hand yet tighter He clasped within his own!

"And so, when strife was ended, No more to be begun, In conquest's very moment Thus fell the chieftain's son."

Then John took out his feather, And put his flag away; And Charlie's drum was silent Until another day.

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THE CHILD'S QUESTION.

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"What are the flowers for, mamma, That spring up fresh and bright, And grow on every hill and plain, Where'er I turn my sight?

"How do the flowers grow, mamma?

I've pulled the leaves away, And tried to see them blossom out, On many a summer's day."

"The flowers were made, my little child, That when our footsteps trod Upon the green and pleasant fields, We then might think of G.o.d.

"We may not see how they do grow, And bloom in beauty fair; We cannot tell how they can spread Their small leaves to the air:

"But yet we know that G.o.d's kind hand Creates these little flowers, And makes the warm sun shine on them, And waters them with showers.

"And so we love to think that He, Who paints their sweet leaves thus, Who sends the sunshine and the rain, Has thought and care for us."

SUNDAY NIGHT.

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The holy Sabbath day has fled; And has it been well spent?

Have I remembered what was said, And why the day was sent?