His face how bright, His heart how light, His throne his mother's knee. Now in her face with laughing eye I see him gaily peep, And now at rest Upon her breast, He gently sinks to sleep. His lips are red, his teeth like pearls, The rogue! he has but two; How soft and fair, His eyes, how bright and blue! His tiny hands are white and plump, And waking, or asleep, Beneath his clothes, His little toes, How cunningly they peep! Oh! many things are beautiful; The bird that sings and flies,— The setting sun, When day is done,— The rainbow in the skies. My own pet lamb is innocent, And full of play is he; The violet With dew-drops wet Is sweet and fair to me. But there is one more beautiful, With heart of joy, A loved and loving child. LITTLE RAIN-DROPS. OH! where do you come from, They won't let me walk, And they won't let me play, And they won't let me go Out of doors at all to-day. They put away my playthings And then they lock'd up all my bricks, |