Mother Truth's Melodies Part 13

Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, And Mercury's next to the Sun While Venus, so bright, Seen at morning or night, Comes _Second_, to join in the fun.

Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, And _Third_ in the group is our Earth; While Mars with his fire, So warlike and dire, Swings around to be counted the _Fourth_.

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Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, While Jupiter's next after Mars,-- And his four moons at night Show the speed of the light; Next golden-ringed Saturn appears,

Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, After Saturn comes Ura.n.u.s far;-- And his antics so queer, Led Astronomers near To old Neptune, who drives the last car.

[Footnote: Other planets are as yet too little known to claim place.]

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"_ROBERT OF LINCOLN_."

"Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, reed-bird, b.u.t.ter-bird, All through the country his jingle is gaily heard; Reveling in rice-fields he sweeps through the South, While wheat, corn, and barley-fields welcome him North, And Bobby is wild with his singing and chatter, So saucily calling with rattle and clatter, Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, Tom-denny, Tom-denny, Come-now-and-pay-me-that-two-shillings-one-penny, No,-I'll-not-wait-for-a-day-nor-a-minute, So-pay-me-up-quick-or-you'll-get-your-foot-in-it;-- c.h.i.n.k-a-chee, c.h.i.n.k-a-chee, c.h.i.n.k-a-chee, chin-it, Yes,-pay-me-up-quick,-or-you'll-get-your-foot-in-it."

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_LIMPY-DIMPY-DINGLE_.

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid would stray To the trap that had been set for weasels, many a day,

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid walked in, And the trap its teeth shut up, on chicky-biddy's shin.

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid is brought, And her leg, so sore and big, we bathe with water hot.

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, here's a broken bone, All so rough,--but close enough we bring the ends, right soon.

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Limpy-dimpy-dingle, strips of paste-board cut, We will place with care and grace, from thigh to trembling foot

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, softest cotton, too, Just within the paste-board thin, to fit around so true.

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, now with tape or band, Neatly wind, and closely bind, with deft and skillful hand.

Limpy-dimpy-dingle, nature'll do the rest, And soon will knit the bone to fit, as good as very best.

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_CASTLE WONDERFUL_.

I know a castle, curious, Of lovely form and make; That we may view the castle through, A hasty peep we'll take.

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The framework of my castle proud, Is neither wood nor stone, But earthy matter mixed with lime And hardened into bone.

This frame, of oddments is composed,-- In mind, the number fix,-- Of long and short and thick and thin, Two hundred just, and six.

And these are fastened each to each, By hinges, like, or joints, Which, with an oil so soft and pure, The Builder wise, anoints.

For garnishing this goodly frame, Quaint cushions, large and small, Are fitly fashioned, each in place, And pliant, one and all.

For cushion covers, deftly wrought, A scarf so beautiful, So pinkish-white, so loose yet tight, So warm and yet so cool;

Upon the smoothly rounded roof Is strewn the finest floss, A filmy veil, as soft as silk,-- Or is it fairy moss?

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Two windows hath this castle fair, That shut and open wide, With cords and pulleys, curtains fringed, And fixtures fine beside.

These wondrous windows even smile And speak and fairly dance, And play at anger, hate, and love, And mischief, too, perchance.

These windows, too, are marvelous In that they let the light Both in and out for him who dwells Within, the lordly knight.

Two telephones of wondrous make,-- A door, with guards and bell,-- A ventilator, double-bored, Aye does its duty well.

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And ah! within, this castle grand, Is fitted to a T, With everything that's needful there For serving you or me.

And strange to tell, this castle builds Itself, if but supplies Be placed within the open door, With watchful care and wise.

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It clears itself too of the dust And ashes strewed within, If but the alley-ways are free, And outlets all a-kin.

And stranger still, this castle comes And goes where'er the will Of him who holds the rule within Shall bid, his hest to fill.

And wondrous more than all beside, This house the temple is, Of Him the great designer, G.o.d,-- And "all the earth is his."

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Now list, and of this castle grand A further tale we'll tell, In language plain, so plain that all May read and heed it well.

The food we eat makes all our blood, And makes us children grow; And if we eat improper food It harms from top to toe.