Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing Part 15

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Look what a nice, new coat is mine; Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Pa.s.sing at home a patient life, Broods in the gra.s.s while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Brood, kind creature, you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note; Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.

Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about.

Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the sh.e.l.l, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care, Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, n.o.body knows but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie, Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows, Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum drone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

Chee, chee, chee.

_William Cullen Bryant._

A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF G.o.d

They say that G.o.d lives very high; But if you look above the pines You cannot see our G.o.d; and why?

And if you dig down in the mines, You never see Him in the gold, Though from Him all that's glory shines.

G.o.d is so good, He wears a fold Of heaven and earth across His face, Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place;

As if my tender mother laid On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, Half waking me at night, and said, "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

"BOB WHITE"

I see you, on the zigzag rails, You cheery little fellow!

While purple leaves are whirling down, And scarlet, brown, and yellow.

I hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, "Bob White! Bob White!" you whistle.

Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, Are nodding there to greet you; I know that you are out for play-- How I should like to meet you!

Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, In this delightful weather; What splendid playmates you and I, "Bob White," would make together!

There, you are gone! but far away I hear your whistle falling.

Ah! may be it is hide-and-seek, And that's why you are calling.

Along those hazy uplands wide We'd be such merry rangers; What! silent now, and hidden too?

"Bob White," don't let's be strangers.

Perhaps you teach your brood the game, In yonder rainbowed thicket, While winds are playing with the leaves, And softly creaks the cricket.

"Bob White! Bob White!"--again I hear That blithely whistled chorus; Why should we not companions be?

One Father watches o'er us!

_George Cooper._

THE DAISIES

Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, an army in June, The people G.o.d sends us to set our hearts free.

The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell, The orioles whistled them out of the wood; And all of their saying was, "Earth, it is well!"

And all of their dancing was, "Life, thou art good!"

_Bliss Carman._

WAITING TO GROW

Little white snowdrop just waking up, Violet, daisy, and sweet b.u.t.tercup, Think of the flowers that are under the snow, Waiting to grow!

And think what a number of queer little seeds, Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and of weeds, Are under the leaves and under the snow, Waiting to grow!

Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, Reaching their slender brown fingers about, Under the ice and the leaves and the snow, Waiting to grow!

No seed is so small, or hidden so well, That G.o.d cannot find it; and soon he will tell His sun where to shine, and His rain where to go, Making it grow!

_Frank French._

THE DANDELIONS

Upon a showery night and still, Without a sound of warning, A trooper band surprised the hill, And held it in the morning.

We were not waked by bugle notes No cheer our dreams invaded, And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats On the green slopes paraded.

We careless folk the deed forgot; Till one day, idly walking, We marked upon the self-same spot A crowd of veterans, talking.

They shook their trembling heads and gray, With pride and noiseless laughter, When, well-a-day! they blew away, And ne'er were heard of after.

_Helen Gray Cone._

A FAIRY TALE

There stands by the wood-path shaded A meek little beggar maid; Close under her mantle faded She is hidden like one afraid.

Yet if you but lifted lightly That mantle of russet brown, She would spring up slender and sightly, In a smoke-blue silken gown.

For she is a princess, fated, Disguised in the wood to dwell, And all her life long has awaited The touch that should break the spell;

And the Oak, that has cast around her His root like a wrinkled arm, Is the wild old wizard that bound her Fast with his cruel charm.