Hymns, Songs, and Fables, for Young People Part 8

The trees with whispering leaves are dressed, The earth upon her dusky breast Her robe of green is wearing; The flowers are blooming far and wide,-- Not Solomon in all his pride With them would bear comparing.

The dove from out her nest doth fly; Far upward in the clear blue sky The lark her way is winging; Hark to the lovely nightingale!

With her sweet song each hill and dale, And woods and rocks, are ringing.

The hen brings out her little brood, The swallow finds her young ones food, The stork her house is keeping.

The bounding stag, the timid roe, Are full of joy, and to and fro, Through the high gra.s.s, are leaping.

The brook is tinkling as it goes, And with the myrtle and the rose Its shady banks adorning; While, from the flowery mead near by, The sheep and shepherd's joyful cry Salutes the early morning.

The never idle troops of bees Fly here and there, and where they please Their honey food are quaffing; The sap is running up the vine, Round the old elm its tendrils twine, And in the sun are laughing.

And can I, may I, silent be?

When all G.o.d's glorious works I see My soul desires to know him.

When all are singing I must sing, And to the Highest I must bring The tribute which I owe him.

Are all things here so bright and fair, And has he with a loving care My happy being given?

What, in the glorious world above, Where all is beauty, all is love,-- What shall I be in heaven?

O, were I there! O, stood I now In that great Presence! there to bow In grateful love before him, Then would I with the angels raise One never-ending song of praise, And worship and adore him!

TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL.

Sweet flower! so young, so fresh, so fair, Bright pleasure sparkling in thine eye, Alas! e'en thee time will not spare, And thou must die.

The heart with youthful hope so gay, That scarcely ever breathed a sigh, Must weep o'er pleasures fled away, For all must die.

But though the rosy cheek may fade, The virtuous wish, the purpose high, The bloom with which the soul's arrayed, Shall never die.

THE LITTLE SLAVE'S WISH.

I wish I was that little bird Up in the bright blue sky, That sings and flies just where he will, And no one asks him why.

I wish I was that little brook That runs so swift along, Through pretty flowers, and shining stones, Singing a merry song.

I wish I was a b.u.t.terfly, Without a fear or care, Spreading my many-colored wings, Like a flower in the air.

I wish I was that wild, wild deer, That I saw the other day, Who through the dark green forest flew, Like an arrow far away.

I wish I was that little cloud By the gentle south-wind driven, Floating along so calm and bright Up to the gates of heaven.

I'd rather be a savage beast, And dwell in a gloomy cave, And shake the forest when I roared, Than what I am,--a slave.

My mother calls me her good boy, My father calls me brave; What wicked action have I done That I should be a slave?

They tell me G.o.d is very good.

That his right arm can save; O, is it, can it, be his will That I should be a slave?

O, how much better 'tis to die, And lie down in the grave, Than 'tis to be what I am now,-- A little negro slave!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

FABLES.

THE HONEST BIRD.

Once on a time, a little bird Within a wicker cage was heard, In mournful tones, these words to sing:-- "In vain I stretch my useless wing; Still round and round I vainly fly, And strive in vain for liberty.

Dear liberty, how sweet thou art!"

The prisoner sings, with breaking heart:-- "All other things I'd give for thee, Nor ask one joy but liberty."

He sang so sweet, a little mouse, Who often ran about the house, Came to his cage; her cunning ear She turned, the mournful bird to hear.

Soon as he ceased,--"Suppose," said she, "I could contrive to set you free; Would you those pretty wings give me?"

The cage was in the window-seat, The sky was blue, the air was sweet.

The bird with eagerness replied,-- "O, yes! my wings, and see, beside, These seeds and apples, sugar, too, All, pretty mouse, I'll give to you, If you will only set me free; For, O, I pant for liberty!"

The mouse soon gnawed a hole; the bird, In ecstasy, forgot his word; Swift as an arrow, see, he flies, Far up, far up, towards the skies; But see, he stops, now he descends, Towards the cage his course he bends.

"Kind mouse," said he, "behold me now Returned to keep my foolish vow; I only longed for freedom then, Nor thought to want my wings again.

Better with life itself to part, Than, living, have a faithless heart; Do with me, therefore, as you will, An honest bird I will be still."

His heart seemed full, no more he said, He drooped his wings and hung his head.

The mouse, though very pert and smart, Had yet a very tender heart; She minced a little, twirled about, Then thus her sentiments threw out:-- "I don't care much about your wings,-- Apples and cakes are better things; You love the clouds, I choose the house; Wings would look queer upon a mouse.

My nice long tail is better far, So keep your wings just where they are."

She munched some apple, gave a smack, And ran into her little crack.

The bird spread out his wings and flew, And vanished in the sky's deep blue; Far up his joyful song he poured, And sang of freedom as he soared.

SOLILOQUY

OF ELLEN'S SQUIRREL, ON RECEIVING HIS LIBERTY;--OVERHEARD BY A LOVER OF NATURE AND A FRIEND OF ELLEN.

Was that the music of the wind, That whispered in my trembling ear?

And can I, free and unconfined, Taste of the joys that still are dear?

And can I skip from tree to tree, And fly along the flowery plain, Light as the wind, as fleet, as free, And make my winter's nest again?

O, yes! my joyful, trembling heart, The song you heard from yonder tree, Which made awakening memory start, Was the sweet sound of Liberty!

Dear Ellen, many thanks I owe For tenderest care bestowed on me; But most my grat.i.tude will flow For your best gift,--sweet Liberty!

Oft in your gayest, happiest hour, When all your youthful heart beats high, And, hastening on from flower to flower, You taste the sweets of Liberty,

The thought that you have set me free, That I can skip and dance like you, To your kind, tender heart shall be As pure a joy as e'er you knew.