"If I were a sunbeam, I know what I'd do; I would seek white lilies, Rainy woodlands through. I would steal among them, Softest light I'd shed, Until every lily Raised its drooping head. "If I were a sunbeam, I know where I'd go; Into lowliest hovels, Dark with want and woe: Till sad hearts looked upward, I would shine and shine; Then they'd think of heaven, Their sweet home and mine." Art thou not a sunbeam, Child, whose life is glad With an inner radiance Sunshine never had? O, as God hath blessed thee, Scatter rays divine! For there is no sunbeam But must die or shine. THE RIVULET Run, little rivulet, run! Summer is fairly begun. Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines, And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines; Run, little rivulet, run! Run, little rivulet, run! Sing to the fields of the sun That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold, Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal cold; Run, little rivulet, run! Run, little rivulet, run! Sing of the flowers, every one,-- Of the delicate harebell and violet blue; Of the red mountain rosebud, all dripping with dew; Run, little rivulet, run! Run, little rivulet, run! Carry the perfume you won From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray, To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay; Run, little rivulet, run! Run, little rivulet, run! Stay not till summer is done! Carry the city the mountain birds' glee; Carry the joy of the hills to the sea; Run, little rivulet, run! THE BROWN THRUSH There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. He's singing to me! He's singing to me! And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? Don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree I'm as happy as happy can be!" And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree? Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy! Now I'm glad! now I'm free! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me." So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy! But long it won't be, Don't you know? don't you see? Unless we are as good as can be!" ANN AND JANE TAYLOR MEDDLESOME MATTY One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best: Matilda, though a pleasant child, One grievous fault possessed, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities. Sometimes she'd lift the teapot lid To peep at what was in it; Or tilt the kettle, if you did But turn your back a minute. In vain you told her not to touch, Her trick of meddling grew so much.