A little cock-sparrow sat on a tree, Looking as happy as happy could be, Till a boy came by, with his bow and arrow. Says he, “I will shoot the little cock-sparrow. His body will make me a nice little stew, And his giblets will make me a little pie, too.” Says the little cock-sparrow, “I’ll be shot if I stay,” So he clapped his wings, and flew away. MY SHIP AND I. [Illustration] O it’s I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond; And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; But when I’m a little older, I shall find the secret out How to send my vessel sailing on beyond. For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, And the dolly I intend to come alive; And with him beside to help me, it’s a-sailing I shall go, It’s a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive. O it’s then you’ll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds, And you’ll hear the water singing at the prow; For beside the dolly sailor, I’m to voyage and explore, To land upon the island where no dolly was before, And to fire the penny cannon in the bow. —_Robert Louis Stevenson._ Never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today. —_Benjamin Franklin._ [Illustration] THE PUSSY WILLOWS. [Illustration] The Pussy Willows, far and near, Give warning when the spring is here; And every little child I know Can tell where Pussy Willows grow. While winter snows are whirling ’round No Pussy Willows can be found; But, dreaming in their beds, they hear The first awakening of the year. Then soon through frosty windows peep The downy Pussies, roused from sleep. “The spring is here!” they softly purr— And out they pop to welcome her. —_Sara Tawney Lefferts._ _The Babes in the Wood._ My dear, do you know, How a long time ago, Two poor little children, Whose names I don’t know, Were stolen away, On a fine summer’s day, And left in the wood, As I’ve heard people say. And when it was night, So sad was their plight, The sun it went down, And the moon gave no light! They sobbed, and they sighed And they bitterly cried, And the poor little things, They lay down and died. And when they were dead, The Robins so red Brought strawberry leaves, And over them spread; And all the day long, They sung them this song: “Poor babes in the wood! poor babes in the wood! And don’t you remember the babes in the wood?” A DUTCH LULLABY. [Illustration]