And the birds on every tree Sing a merry, merry tune, And the busy honey bee Comes to suck my sugar soon. This is, then, the reason why I my little leaves undo. Little lady, wake and try If I have not told you true. --_Jane Taylor_. {353} THE FIELD DAISY I'm a pretty little thing, Always coming with the spring. In the meadows green I'm found, Peeping just above the ground; And my stalk is covered flat With a white and yellow hat. Little Mary, when you pass Lightly o'er the tender grass, Skip about, but do not tread On my bright but lowly head; For I always seem to say, "Surely winter's gone away." --_Jane Taylor_. {354} THE LITTLE CHILD I'm a very little child, Only just have learned to speak; So I should be very mild, Very tractable and meek. If my dear mamma were gone, Oh, I think that I should die, When she left me all alone, Such a little thing as I. Now what service can I do, To repay her for her care? For I cannot even sew, Nor make anything I wear. Well, then, I will always try To be very good and mild; Never now be cross or cry, Like a fretful little child. How unkind it is to fret, And my dear mamma to tease, When my lesson I should get, Sitting still upon her knees! Oh, how can I serve her so, Such a good mamma as this? Round her neck my arms I'll throw, And her gentle cheek I'll kiss. Then I'll tell her that I will Try not any more to fret her, And as I grow older still, Try to show I love her better. --_Jane Taylor_. {355}{356} [Illustration] THE "GRANDUCA MADONNA" By Raphael "Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, Those miracles of power, whose fame Is wide as human thought. "There drooped thy more than mortal face, O Mother, beautiful and mild! Enfolding in one dear embrace Thy Saviour and thy Child!" --_John Greenleaf Whittier_ [End illustration] {357} GOING TO BED The moon is up, the sun is gone, Now nothing here he shines upon; The pretty birds are in their nest, The cows are lying down to rest, Or wait, beneath the farmer's shed, To hear the merry milkmaid's tread. The pleasant flowers that opened wide, And smelt so sweet at morning-tide, Fold up their leaves, as if to say, "Good-by, we'll come another day; And now, dear little lady, you Must sleep, as we shall seem to do." Yes,--here's my pretty bed, and I Will kiss mamma, and say "by, by!" So nice and warm, so smooth and white, So comfortable all the night! And when my little prayer is said, How could I cry to go to bed? --_Jane Taylor_. {358} TIME TO GET UP