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GET up, little sister: the morning is bright,
And the birds are all singing to welcome the light;
The buds are all opening; the dew's on the flower:
you shake but a branch, see there falls quite a shower.

By the side of their mothers, look, under the trees,
How the young lambs are skipping about as they please ;
And by all those rings on the water, I know,
The fishes are merrily swimming below.

The bee, I dare say, has been long on the wing
To get honey from every flower of Spring;
For the bee never idles, but labours all day,
And thinks, wise little insect, work better than play.

The lark's singing gaily; it loves the bright sun,
And rejoices that now the gay Spring is begun;
For the Spring is so cheerful, I think 'twould be wrong
If we do not feel happy to hear the lark's song.

Get up; for when all things are merry and glad,
Good children should never be lazy and sad;
For God gives us daylight, dear sister, that we
May rejoice like the lark, and may work like the bee.

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SLEEP, little brother, you must not awaken
Till mother comes back to her baby again:
Weary and long is the way she has taken,

Over the common, and through the green glen,
Up the steep hill, by the path that is nearest,
Thinking of you as she hurries along,

Sleep then, and dream that she's watching you, dearest, Rocking your cradle, and singing her song.

In the still room there's no sound to disquiet,
Only the clock ticking even, and low,
Only the bird in his cage hanging by it,

Chirping a note as he hops to and fro.
Out in the sunlight the woodbine is stirring,

Filling the air with its fragrance so sweet; On the low window seat pussy sits purring, Washing her face with her little white feet.

Far down the lane merry voices are ringing,

Comrades have beckon'd me out to their play.
Why did you start? it is I that am singing:

Why did you frown? I'm not going away.
Could I forsake you for play, or for pleasure,
Lying alone in your helplessness here?
How could I leave you, my own little treasure,
No one to rock you, and no one to cheer?

In the room corners I watch the dark shadows,
Deepening, and lengthening, as evening comes on:
Soon will the mowers return from the meadows;
Far to the westward the red sun is gone.

By the green hedge-row, I see her now coming,
Where the last sunbeam is just on her track.
Still I sit by you, love, drowsily humming;
Sleep, little baby, till mother comes back,


“LITTLE bird! little bird! come to me e!
I have a green cage ready for thee,-
Beauty-bright flowers I'll bring to you,
And fresh, ripe cherries, all wet with dew."

"Thanks, little maiden, for all thy care,But I dearly love the clear, cool air; And my snug little nest in the old oak-tree." "Little bird! little bird! stay with me."

"Nay, little damsel; away I'll fly
To greener fields and a warmer sky;
When Spring returns with pattering rain,
You will hear my merry song again."

"Little bird! little bird! who'll guide thee Over the hills, and over the sea?

Foolish one, come in the house to stay;
For I'm very sure you'll lose your way.'

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"Ah, no, little maiden! God guides me
Over the hills, and over the sea:
I will be free as the rushing air,
Chasing the sun-light everywhere."



"THE squirrel is happy, the squirrel is gay," Little Henry exclaim'd to his brother; "He has nothing to do or to think of but play, And to jump from one bough to another." But William was older and wiser, and knew

That all play and no work wouldn't answer, So he ask'd what the squirrel in winter must do, If he spent all the summer a dancer.

The squirrel, dear Harry, is merry and wise,
For true wisdom and mirth go together;
He lays up in summer his winter supplies,
And then he don't mind the cold weather.

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