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"Father, when people die,
Will they come back in May?" Tears were in Charley's eye,— "Will they, dear father, say?"
That sits among the forest leaves,
Its fur is red as the red chestnut,
It leads a life most innocent
'Tis a timid, gentle creature, And seldom comes in sight; It has a long and wiry tail,
And eyes both black and bright.
It makes its nest of soft, dry moss,
In a hole so deep and strong;
And though it keeps no calendar,
It knows when flowers are springing; And waketh to its summer life,
When Nightingales are singing. Upon the boughs the Squirrel sits,
The Wood-Mouse plays below; And plenty of food it finds itself
Where the beech and chestnut grow.
In the Hedge-Sparrow's nest he sits,
I saw a little Wood-Mouse once,
With the green, green moss beneath his feet,
I saw him sit and his dinner eat,
All under the forest tree;
His dinner of chestnut ripe and red,
I wish you could have seen him there;
To see the small thing God had made
I saw that He regardeth them-
Do you see that old beggar that stands at the door?
Go set near the fire a table and seat:
And Betty shall bring him some bread and some meat. I hope my dear children will always be kind, Whenever they meet with the aged and blind.
WHO would fancy this December,
And so silently it fell,
Chant his morning hymn so sweet, Whilst the holly shows its corals
For his promised Christmas treat. Now I see him slyly peeping
With his quick and glancing eye; Still his cheerful carol keeping
Christmas by its minstrelsy.
Look now! he is venturing nearer-
Ask from us his Christmas cheer.