Then as I dislike all the trouble I've had, In future I'll try to prevent it, For I never am naughty without being sad, Or good--without being contented. ISAAC WATTS AGAINST IDLENESS AND MISCHIEF How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower! How skillfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads her wax! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last. A MORNING SONG My God, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise, And to give light to all below, Doth send him round the skies. When from the chambers of the east His morning race begins, He never tires, nor stops to rest, But round the world he shines. So, like the sun, would I fulfill The business of the day: Begin my work betimes, and still March on my heavenly way. Give me, O Lord, thy early grace, Nor let my soul complain That the young morning of my days Has all been spent in vain. A CRADLE HYMN Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber! Holy angels guard thybed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee! Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay. Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the horned oxen fed; Peace, my darling, here's no danger, Here's no ox a-near thy bed. Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise! LEWIS CARROLL JABBERWOCKY 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimbel in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought-- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O Frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy.