m\ Ope, Sesame 'J ^iy GlNN&QDNRANy UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES ^V^ > £ C OPEN SESAME! 1'OETRY AND PROSE FOR SCHOOL-DAYS. EDITED BY BLANCHE WILDER BELLAMY AND MAUD WILDER GOODWIN. Folttmr £. ARRANGED FOR CHILDREN FROM FOUR TO TWELVE YEARS OLD. > v ■ • *.■.' , -. .' '. . . ' . . . . . •>*Kc BOSTON, IS. A.: PUBLISHED BY GINN & COMPANY. 1891. copyright, 1s89. By Blanche Wilder Bellamy and Maud Wilder Goodwin. All RiciHTS Reserved. ' Typography bt ■'■ B. Cubbing ft Co., Boston, I .8.A, PassBtroBH bi Gink ft < ".. Boston, U.S.A. - « a ~0 * 3 ^ \ V 41c v.i PREFACE. " Open Sesame ! ' a collection of poetry and prose for school-days, has been prepared with the hope that it will encourage children, first, to learn by heart ; secondly, to learn things worth learning ; and thirdly, to learn these things because they like them. In this volume will be found some of those simple words by which little people may come to know great authors, — Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Dryden, Addison, *»« Swift, Gay, and Cowper; Byron, Scott, and Burns; Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, Southey, Campbell, and Lamb ; the Brownings, Thackeray, Dickens, Ruskin. and Charlotte Bronte ; Tennyson and Swinburne ; Bryant, Longfellow, Emerson, and Lowell ; Schiller, Victor Hugo, and many others. Here, too, are favor- ites, new and old, which, while of less famous author- ship, have been stamped iw classic'' by the verdict of childhood. Some selections which appeal to children on the emotional rather than on the intellectual side have been admitted upon the theory that children may iv PREFACE. thus be led on from things valuable in sentiment, and pleasing in expression, to those of the highest literary quality. Certain poems, both fine and familiar, which would have a natural place in this volume, will be missed from it. The editors regret that, in spite of diligent effort, it has not been possible to secure their use. The book is illustrated wholly by engravings from the old masters, in the belief that children will enjoy and profit by the best art as well as the best literature. The hero of the "Arabian Nights' 1 tale found the words, " Open Sesame ! ' a charm which revealed a rich treasure, and his talisman has been borrowed as the title of these volumes, with the wish that they may prove an "Open Sesame!' to the treasure-house of literature. The editors extend their cordial thanks to the fol- lowing publishers and authors, whose generous co- operation has made the collection possible, and whose contributions appear in this volume: — To Messrs. Fords, Howard iS: Hurlbert, for selections from the writings of Henry Ward I>eeeher; to Messrs. Iioberts Brothers, for poems by IF. II.; and to Oliver Ditson & Co., for Christmas Carols from Rhymes and Tunes. PREFACE. To Mr. Richard Watson Gilder, Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster, Mrs. Annie Douglass Robinson, Mr. Richard H. Stoddard, Mr. Charles Henry Webb, Mr. James Whitcomb Riley. Mi'. Thomas Wentworth Iligginson, Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller; to Right Reverend Bishop Doane ; and to the literary executors of Gen. J. W. Phelps, Mrs. Ethel Lynn Beers, Mrs. Elizabeth L. Prentiss, and Mr. William Cullen Bryant. Selections from the writings of Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, Lowell, Celia Thaxter, T. B. Aldrich, and Margaret Deland are published by business arrange- ment with Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Abou Ben Adlicm Leigh Hunt. 32 American Flay, The Joseph Rodman Drake. 173 Andrew Hofer Tulius Mosen. 188 Angel's Whisper, The Samuel Lover. 26 Answer to a Child's Question Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 102 Ant and the Cricket, The Anonymous. 275 April in England Robert Browning. 122 April Fools Winthrop Mackworth Praed. 232 A riel's Song William Shakespeare. 239 Baby, The George Macdonald. 29G Baby Bye Theodore Tilton. 302 Baby's Feet, A Algernon Charles Swinburne. 287 Baby's Hands, A llgernon Charles Swinburne. 287 Baby's Shoes W. C. Bennett. 77 Ballad of St. Swilhiu's Day. A Emily If. Hickey. 11 Ballad of the Thrush Austin Dobson. 102 Bannockbnrn Robert Burns. 187 Battle of Blenheim, The Robert Soulhey. 196 Baucis and Philemon Jonathan Swift. 279 Before Sedan Austin Dobson. 190 Bird, The William Allingham. 11 1 Birthday Week, The Anonymous. 295 Bivouac of the Dead, The Theodore O'Hara. 175 Blind Boy, The Colley Cibber. 82 Brook, The llfred Tennyson. 92 Broom Flower, The Mary Howitt. 98 Calendar, The Anonymous. 167 Camel's Nose, The Lydia U. Sigourney. 264 Casabianca Felicia Ilemans. 181 Charge of The Light Brigade, The Alfred Tennyson. 192 Chatterbox, The Jane Taylor. 140 Vlii TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Child and Mother Thomas Hood. 07 Child Musician, The Austin Dobson. 16 Child's Thought of God, A Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 45 Child's Song, A \lgernon Charles Swinburne. 291 Child to a Rose Anonymous. 126 Children on the Shore Anonymous. 13 Chill, A Christina G. Rossetti. 289 Choosing a Name Mary Lamb. 75 Christmas Anonymous. 212 Christmas Bells John Keble. 212 Christmas Carol Old English. 211 Christmas Carol Eelicia Hemans. 214 Christmas Carol Dinah Maria Mulock. 215 Christmas Carol Christina G. Bossetti. 216 Christmas Carol Old English. 217 Christmas Holly, The Eliza Cook. 218 Common Question, The John Greenleaf Whittier. 28 Consider Christina G. Bossetti. 54 Content and Discontent Richard Chenevix Trench. 44 Country Maid and Her Milk Can, The jEsop. 278 Cradle Song, A From the German. 308 Cradle Song, A Richard Watson Gilder. 310 Cradle Hymn, A Isaac Watts. 315 Crowns for Children Anonymous. 70 Cuckoo, The Old English. 105 Cuddle Doon Alexander A nderson. 311 Death of Little Nell, The Charles Dickens. 42 Death of Oberon, The Walter Thornbury. 239 Desire, A Adt laide Anne Procter. 213 Dewdrop, The Richard < 'henevix Trench. 26G 1 )ovc, The John Keats. 106 Duty Ralph Waldo Emerson. 53 Eagle, The Alfred Tennyson. 106 Ear of Corn, The. . ■ From the <•'< rman. 268 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, An Oliver Goldsmith. 150 Elizabeth, Aged Nine Margaret E. SangsU r. 8 Epiphany Reginald Hi her. 229 Epitaph on a Robin Redbreasl . An Samin I lingers. 104 Flyinir-l-'i-h. The Florian. 273 Fairy Folk, The William Allingham. 246 Fairy Bong Tohn Keats. 248 Fairy to Puck, The William Shakespeare. 259 TABLE OF CONTENTS IX pa<;e Fairies of the Caldon Low, The Mary Howitt. 255 Farewell Advice Charles Kingsley. 8(1 Farthing Rushlight, The Alsop. 283 Faults ami Virtues John Ruskin. 47 Fife and Drum Tohn Dryden. 205 Fighting Thomas Hughes. 180 First Footsteps llgernon Charles Swinburne. 294 Flower in the Crannied Wall Alfred Tennyson. 112 Forsaken .Merman, The Matthew Arnold. 241 Fountain, The fames Russell Loicell. 95 Fox and the Crow, The Jane Taylor. 273 God, the Father Henry Ward Beecher. 49 Golden Rule, The Anonymous. 295 Golden Rule, The Anonymous. 29G Good Cheer ( 'harlotte Bronte. C> Good-Morning Robert Browning. 3 Good-Night Victor Hugo. 31G Good-Night and Good-Morn ins; Lord Houghton. 74 Good Name William Shakespeare. 48 Goodness Marcus Aurelius. 55 Good Tidings St. Luke. 209 Goiiii, r Home Nathaniel Parker Willis. 171 (loose with the Golden Eggs, The Msop. 264 Gourd and the Palm, The From the Persian. 2G7 Greenwood Tree, The William Shakespeare. 89 Happiness , Tohn Keble. 50 Happiest Land, The Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 15 Hark ! William Shakespeare. 90 Heavenly Dove, The Frederika Bremer. 4(> Heroes Anonymous. 177 Hie Away ! Walter Scott. 90 Home Alfred Tennyson. 183 Home, Sweet Home Tohn Iloicard Payne. 85 Housekeeper, The Charlt s Lamb. 119 How 's My Boy ? Sydney Dobell. 21 How the Gates Came Ajar ... From the Italian. 5 Humility Robert Herrick. 47 Idle Magnet, The From the German. 278 [-have and ( )h-had-I Langheim. 59 Infant Joy William Black. 289 I Think When, I Head that Sweet Story Of Old Temima Luke. 313 I Remember, I Remember Thomas Hood. 83 TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Jeuny Wren and Robin Redbreast Old English. 299 Jovial Beggar, The Old Song. 152 Jupiter and the Bee JEsop. 272 Kept In Ethel Lynn Beers. 141 Kitten and the Falling Leaves, The William Wordsworth. 121 Kitty Mai-ion Douglas. 17 Lady-Bird, Lady-Bird Caroline Bowles Southey. 103 Lady Moon Lord Houghton. 101 Lamb, The William Blake. 290 Larch and the Oak, The Thomas Carlyle. 2G1 Lark and the Rook, The Anonymous. 263 Law Case, A William Cowper. 151 Legend, A Richard Henry Stoddard. 3 Life's Good-Morning Anna Letitia Barbauld. 86 Lion and the Cub John Gay. 119 Little Angel, The Elizabeth Prentiss. 291 Little Bell T. B. Westwood. 23 Little Bird, The Martin Luther. 105 Little Birdie Alfred Tennyson. 306 Little Brawl, A Frederika Bremer. 292 Little Brown Hands M. II. Krout. 60 Little Fay, The Robert Buchanan. 252 Little Goose, A Eliza Sproat Turner. 29 Little Kittie Elizabeth Prentiss. 297 Little Mamma Charles Henry Webb. 132 Little Moments Anonymous. 73 Little Nurse, The Mme. Tastu. 27 Little Orphan t Annie James Whitcomb Riley. 136 Little Things [nonymous. 293 Lorraine Charles Kingshy. 176 Lost Doll, The Charles Kingsley. 301 Lullaby, A Lady Nairne. 306 Lullaby, A Alfred /'nun/sun. 307 Manh William Wordsworth. 96 Mart in Luther's Letter to bis Little Son 57 May Queen, The Alfred Tennyson. 232 Meddlesome Matty Jane Taylor. 146 Mermaid, The Alfred Tennyson. 240 Midsummer Song, A Richard Watson adder. 124 Milking Time Christina C. Rossett I. 298 Minstrel-Boy, The Thomas. Moore. 190 Miser and bis Three Sons, The Oliver Goldsmith. 266 TABLE OF CONTENTS XI pa(;e Modest Wit, A Selleck Osborne. I is Moon, The Anonymous. 48 Monterey Charles Fenno Hoffman. 200 Mother Goose Lullabies Anonymous. 309 Mother's Song Anonymous. 293 Mother, Watch ! Mary A. Kidder. G8 Mountain and the Squirrel, The Ralph Waldo Emerson. 262 My limit's in the Highlands Robert Burns. 91 My Little Lady Thomas B. Westwood. G6 My Native Land Walter Scott. 172 Nae Shoon Anonymous. 288 National Hymn Samuel E. Smith. 171 Nests John Ruskin . 7 New Year's Eve Hans Christian Andersen. 223 Nightingale and the Glow-Worm, The William Covjper. 277 N ine Muses, The The Editors. 16G Noble Nature, The Ben Jonson. 5G Norman Battle-Song, The Anonymous. 195 Not a Child Algernon Charles Swinburne. 69 November Child, A Richard Watson Gilder. 77 Old Christmas Mary Howitt. 220 Old Gaelic Cradle-Song Anonymous. 309 Old Market Woman, The Old English. 299 Old Oaken Bucket, The Samuel Woodicorth. 84 One by One Adelaide Anne Procter. 51 Over and Over Again Anonymous. Gl Owl, The Alfred Tennyson. 112 Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The Edmund Lear. 145 Politeness Anonymous. 295 Polly George Macdonald. 300 Poor Little Children ! Victor lingo. 4 Praying and Loving Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 25 Queen Mab Thomas Hood. 253 Rainbow, The Tohn Keble. 118 River, The Caroline Bowles Southey. 116 Robin Redbreast, The William Allingham. 109 Rose upon my Balcony, The William Makepeace Thackeray. 7 Sandpiper, The Celia Thaxter. 107 Sculptor, The George Washington Doane. G7 Seminole's Defiance, The George W. Patten. 174 September . . //. //. 100 Seven Times One A an Tngelova. G4 xii TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Seven Wonders of the World, The The Editors. 105 Shadow-Town Ferry Lilian Dynevor Rice. 315 Shell, The Alfred Tennyson. 97 Signs of the Zodiac, The , Anonymous. 1(57 Sixty and Six , . Thomas Wentworth Higginsou. 63 Skylark, The James Hogg. 108 Soldier's Dream, The . . Thomas Campbell. 201 Soldier, Rest ! Walter Scott. 183 Solomon and Mamma Anonymous. 29G Song of the Elfin Miller Allan Cunningham. 259 Song of Marion's Men, The William Cullen Bryant. 185 Sound the Loud Timbrel "Thomas Moore. 204 Spacious Firmament on High, Tlie . . Joseph Addison. 117 Spider and the Fly, The Mary Hountt. 269 Speak Gently Anonymous. 50 Spring and Summer Anonymous. 123 Star Spangled Banner, The Francis Scott Key. 198 Stars, The Barry Cornwall. 94 Stars Anonymous. 129 Succory, The Margaret Deland. 113 Summer Changes Philip Bourke Marston. 80 Sunshine Delavigne. 02 Table Rules for Little Folks Anonymous. 107 Thanksgiving Day Henry Afford. 228 Thanksgiving Day Lydia Marin ( 'hihl. 230 Three Pairs and One Friedrich Ruckert. 58 Tiger, The William Blake. 120 Time Benjamin Franklin. 53 Tired of Play Vathaniel Parker Willis. 72 To-day Thomas Carlyle. 44 To My Soul Paul Fleming. 55 Tongue, The John Lyly. 58 To the Guardian Angel Mine. Tastu. :M4 To the Fir-Tree From the German. 221 Topsy-Turvy World Lilliput Levee. 181 To Violets Robert Herrick. 116 Turkish Legend, A Thomas Baih y Aldrich. 48 Under My Window Thomas />' Westwood. 189 Violets John Moultrie. 1 16 Visit, from St. Nicholas, A < 'lement < '. Moure. 221 Vigil from t he 8ea \ Robert Louis Stevenson. 91 Warren's Address Tohn Pierpont. 19 1 TABLE OF CONTENTS. xiii IV i. E • > Way for I5i!!y and Me, The fames 11<»j CO 15 CL < O SENTIMENT AND STORY. J^CX- GOOD-MORXING. Robert Browning. Song from " Pipha Passes. The year's at the Spring, And day's at the morn ; Morning's at seven ; The hill-side's dew-pearled ; The lark's on the wing ; The snail's on the thorn ; God's in his heaven — All's right with the world. A LEGEND. R. H. Stoddard. The young child Jesus had a garden, Full of roses rare and red : And thrice a day he watered them To make a garland for his head. -' When they were full-blown in the garden, He called the Jewish children there; And each did pluck himself a rose, Until they stripped the garden bare. OPEN SESAME. "And, now, how will you make your garland, For not a rose your path adorns?" "But you forget," he answered them, "That you have left me still the thorns."' They took the thorns and made a garland And placed it on his shining head, And where the roses should have shown. Were little drops of blood instead. POOR LITTLE CHILDREN. Victor Hugo. Mother birdie stiff and cold. Puss has hushed the other's singing ; Winds go whistling o'er the wold, — Empty nest in sport a-flinging : Poor little birdies ! Faithless shepherd strayed afar, Playful dog the gadflies catching, Wolves bound boldly o'er the bar, Not a friend the fold is watching: Poor little lambkins ! Father into prison fell. Mother begging through the parish ; Baby's cot they too will sell, — Who will now feed, clothe, and ehcrisli? Poor little children ! SfcNTlMtNir AND STORY 5 IK)\V THE GATES CAME AJAR. i the Italian. It was whispered one morning in heaven How the little child-angel, May, In the shade of the great, white portal. Sat sorrowing night and day. How she said to the stately warden — Him of the key and bar — " angel, sweet angel ! I pray you. Set the beautiful gates ajar — Only a little, I pray you, Set the beautiful gates ajar ! " I can hear my mother weeping ; She is lonely ; she cannot see • A glimmer of light in the darkness, Where the gates shut after me. Oh ! turn me the key, sweet angel, The splendor will shine so far ! ' But the warden answered : " I dare not Set the beautiful gates ajar," — Spoke low and answered : " I dare not Set the beautiful gates ajar ! ,: Then rose up Mary the Blessed, Sweet Mary, Mother of Christ : Her hand on the hand of the angel She laid, and her touch sufficed; Turned was the key in the portal, Fell rineine the golden bar 6 OPEN SESAME. And lo ! in the little child's fingers Stood the beautiful gates ajar ! In the little child-angel's fingers Stood the beautiful gates ajar ! "And this key, for further using, To my blessed Son shall be given ; " Said Mary, Mother of Jesus — Tenderest heart in heaven. Now, never a sad-eyed mother But may catch the glory afar ; Since safe in the Lord Christ's bosom, Are the keys of the gates ajar ; Close hid in the dear Christ's bosom. And the gates forever ajar ! GOOD CHEER. Charlotte Bronte. Life, believe, is not a dream. So dark as sages say ; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom. But these are transient all: If the shower will make the roses bloom, Oli. why lament its fall ? Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours Hit by ; ( rratefully, cheerily, Enjoy them as they i\y. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 7 — * m • — THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. \Y. M. Thackeray. The rose upon my balcony, the morning air perfuming, Was leafless all the winter lime and pining for the Spring. You ask me why her breath is sweet and why her cheek is blooming, It is because the sun is out, and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the green- wood ringing, Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen. And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing. It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Thus each perforins his part, Mamma, the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye ; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wak- ens and rejoices, And so I sing and blush, Mamma, and that's the reason why. NESTS. John Ruskin. Make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts! None of us yet know, lor none of us have been taught in 8 OPEN SESAME. early youth, what fairy palaces we may build of beau- tiful thoughts, proof against all adversity ; bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful say- ings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts, which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us ; houses built without hands, for our souls to live in. ^ ELIZABETH, AGED NINE." Magaket K. Sangster. Out of the way in a corner Of our dear old attic room. Where bunches of herbs from the hillside Shake ever a faint perfume, An oaken chest is standing — With hasp and padlock and key — Strong as tlio hands that made it On the other side of the sea. When the winter days are dreary. And we're out of heart with life, Of its crowding cares are weary, And sick of its restless strife. We take a lesson in patience From the attic corner dim, Where the Hirst holds fast its treasure, A warder dark and grim : SENTIMENT AND STORY. ( J Robes of an antique fashion — Linen and lace and silk — That time has tinted with saffron, Though once they were white as milk ; Wonderful baby garments, Broidered, with loving care By fingers that felt the pleasure As they wrought the ruffles rare. A sword, with the red rust on it, That flashed in the battle-tide, When, from Lexington to Concord, Sorely men's hearts were tried ; A plumed chapeau and a buckle, And many a relic fine ; And all by itself the sampler, Framed in by berry and vine. Faded the square of canvas, Dim is the silken thread — But I think of white hands dimpled, And a childish sunny head ; For here in cross and tent stitch, In a wreath of berry and vine, She worked it a hundred years ago, " Elizabeth, aged nine." In and out in the sunshine The little needle Hashed, And out and in on the rainy day When tlif sullen drops down plashed. 1U OPEN SESAME. As close she sat by her mother — The little Puritan maid — And did her piece on the sampler Each morn before she played. You are safe in the crystal heavens, " Elizabeth, aged nine," But before you went you had troubles Sharper than any of mine. The gold-brown hair with sorrow Grew white as drifted snow, And your tears fell here, slow-staining This very plumed chapeau. When you put it away, its wearer Would need it never more, — By a sword-thrust learning the secrets God keeps on yonder shore. But you wore your grief like a glory ; Not yours to yield supine, Who wrought in your patient childhood; "Elizabeth, aged nine." Out of the way in a corner, With hasp and padlock and key. Stands the oaken chest of my fathers. That came from over llie sea. The hillside herbs above it Shake odora taint and line, Ami here on its lid is a garland To " Elizabel h. aged nine." SENTIMENT AND STORY. 11 For love is of the immortal. And patience is sublime, And" trouble's a thing of every day, That toucheth every time ; And childhood sweet and sunny. Or womanly truth and grace, In the dusk of the way light torches. And cheer earth's lowliest place. A BALLAD OF ST. SWITHUN'S DAY. E. H. HlCKEY. Tiikek little noses are flattened against the pane ; Three little rosy mouths are bemoaning the rain ; Saint Swithun is christening the apples with might and with main. "0 Saint Swithun. Saint Swithun," the children sav. "Surely you've christened the apples enough to-day." " Rain, rain," say the children, ' k be off to Spain ! Never, never, we charge you, come back again ! We want to run in the garden, and down conies the rain ! Saint Swithun, Saint Swithun," the children plead. "We want our run in the garden, we do indeed. " Dear Saint Swithun. our lessons have been so long; Dreadful sums. Saint Swithun, that would come wrong! We wanted to dance a little or sing a song. 12 OPEN SESAME. • m x\nd now we are free, Saint Swithun, we're kept in- doors, For, because you are christening the apples, it pours and pours. " Good Saint Swithun, our lessons are over and done ; Kind Saint Swithun, we're longing to take a run ; When you were young, Saint Swithun, you liked some fun. Saint Swithun, Saint Swithun," the children cry, . •• Why should you christen the apples in mid-July ? " We don't mind the rain, not an atom. Away we should get From the schoolroom, bare-headed, bare-footed, out into the wet, If only the} T 'd let us — but that they have never done jet; And you might as well ask them to — cook us and eat us, you see, For in some things grown-up folk and children can't ever agree." Now hurrah for Saint Swithun ! The rain is o'er; <)ut comes the sun in his glory — they make for the door — Six little feet a-patter, a joyous uproar ; "Hey! for Saint Swithun. Saint Swithun," the chil- dren shout ; •• Hats and hoots — not a moment to lose till we're out." SENTIMENT AND STORY. 13 • ■ • Hark to the birds and the children! Oh, merry and sweet Rings out the laugh of the children, and quick arc their feet. Hey, for the sunshine of summer, its light and its heal ! Where are ye now, little children ? Oh, far away, Though Saint Swithun is christening the apples again to-day ! CHILDREN OX THE SHORE. Anonymoi . We are building little homes on the sands. We are making little rooms very gay. We are busy with our hearts and our hands. We are sorry that the time Hits away. Oh, why are the minutes in such haste? Oh, why won't they leave us to our play '.' Our lessons and our meals arc such waste ! We can dine very well another day. We do not mind the tide coining in, — We can dig it a cunning little bed, Or leave our pretty house and begin Another pretty house in its stead ; We do not mind the sun in our eyes, When it makes such a dazzle of the world That we cannot tell the sea from the skies, Nor look where the Hying drops are hurl'd. 14 OPEN SESAME. The shells that we gather are so fair, The birds and the clouds are so kind, And the wind is so merry with our hair, — It is only the People that we mind ! Papa, if you come so very near, We can't build the library to-day ; We think you are tired of being here, And, perhaps, you would like to go away. There are just one or two we won't refuse, If they come by, to help us now and then ; But we want only friends to be of use, And not all those idle grown-up men ; Perhaps, if we hurry very much, And don't lose an instant of the day, There'll be time for the last lovely touch Before the' sea sweeps it all away. Oh, children — thus working with the heart ! There's nothing so terrible as rest ; Plan only how all may take a part: It's easy for each to do his best. The sea, sweeping up at set of sun, Can never make your toil be in vain; It covers the things that you have done, But the joy of the doing shall remain! Little children, love one another. — St, J' hi.-, i:. I'ii w SENTIMENT AND STORY. 1 ."> THE HAPPIEST LAND. Henry \V. I < ingfellow. There sat one day in quiet By an alehouse on the Rhine Four hale and hearty fellows And drank the precious wine. ma The landlord's daughter filled, their cups. Around the rustic board ; Then sat they all so calm and still. And spake not one rude word. But, when the maid departed, A Swabian raised his hand, And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, " Long live the Swabian land ! " The greatest kingdom upon earth Can not with that compare ; With all the stout and hardy men And the nut-brown maidens there." " Ha ! ' cried a Saxon, laughing, And dashed his beard with wine; '•I had rather live in Lapland, Than that Swabian land of thine ! "The goodliest land on all this earth It is the Saxon land ! There have I as many maidens As fingers on this hand ! " 16 OPEN SESAME. " Hold your tongues ! both Swabian and Saxon ! ' A bold Bohemian cries : " If there's a heaven upon this earth In Bohemia it lies. " There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobbler blows the horn, And the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn." And then the landlord's daughter Up to heaven raised her hand, And said, " Ye may no more contend, There lies the happiest land ! ' THE CHILD-MUSICIAN. Austin Dobson. He had played for his lordship's levee, He had played for her ladyship's whim. Till the poor little head was heavy, And the poor little brain would swim. And the face grew peaked and eerie, And the large eyes strange and bright ; And they said — too late — "He is weary! He shall rest, for at least to-night ! ' But at dawn, when the birds were waking. As they watched in the silent room, SENTIMENT AND STORY. 17 With the sound of a strained cord breaking, A something snapped in the gloom. 'Twas the string of his violoncello, And they heard him stir in his hed : — " Make room for a tired little fellow, Kind God ! ' was the last he said. KITTY. Marion Douglas. Alas ! little Kitty — do give her your pity — Had lived seven years, and was never called jH-etty ! Her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue, And her cheeks were so freckled, They looked like the speckled Wild-lilies, which down in the meadow-lands grew. If her eyes had been black, if she'd only had curls. She had been, so she thought, the most happy of girls. Her cousins around her, they pouted and fretted, But they were all pretty and they were all petted ; While poor little Kitty, though striving her best To do her child's duty, Not sharing their beauty, Was always neglected and never caressed. All in vain, so she thought, was she loving and true, While her hair was bright red. and her eyes were dull blue. 18 OPEN SESAME. But one day, alone 'mid the clover-blooms sitting, She heard a strange sound, as of wings round her flit- ting ; A light not of sunbeams, a fragrance more sweet Than the wind's, blowing over The red-blossomed clover, Made her thrill with delight from her head to her feet; And a voice, sweet and rare, whispered low in the air, " See that beautiful, beautiful child sitting there ! ' Thrice blessed little Kitty ! She almost looked pretty ! Beloved by the angels, she needed no pity ! juvenile charmers ! with shoulders of snow, Ruby lips, sunny tresses, — Forms made for caresses, — There's one thing, my beauties, 'tis well you should know : Though the world is in love with bright eyes and soft hair, It is only good children the angels call fair ! WOODEN LEGS. Poems Written to a Child. Two children sat in the twilight, Murmuring soft and low; Said one, "I'll be a sailor-lad, With my boat ahoy! yo ho! SENTIMENT AND STORY. l'.l For sailors are most loved of all In every happy home, And tears of grief or gladness fall Just as they go or come." But the other child said sadly, " Ah, do not go to sea, Or in the dreary winter nights What will become of me ? For if the wind began to blow, Or thunder shook the sky, Whilst you were in your boat, yo ho ! What could I do but cry?" Then he said, " I'll be a soldier, With a delightful gun, And I'll come home with a wooden leg, As heroes have often done." She screams at that, and prays and begs, While tears — half anger — start, " Don't talk about your wooden legs, Unless you'd break my heart ! ' He answered her rather proudly, " If so, what can I be, If I must not have a wooden leg And must not go to sea? How could the queen sleep sound at night, Safe from the scum and dregs, If English boys refused to fight For fear of wooden legs ? " 20 OPEN SESAME. She hung her head repenting, And trying to be good, But her little hand stroked tenderly The leg of flesh and blood ! And with her rosy mouth she kiss'd The knickerbocker'd knee, And sigh'd, "Perhaps — if you insist — You'd better go to sea ! " Then he flung his arms about her,* And laughingly he spoke, " But I've seen many honest tars With legs of British oak ! Oh, darling ! when I am a man, With beard of shining black, I'll be a hero if I can, And you must not hold me back." She kissed him as she answered, " I'll try what I can do, — And Wellington had both his legs, And Cceur de Lion too ! And Garibaldi," here she sighed, " I know he's lame — but there — lie's such a hero — none beside Like him could do and dare ! " So the children talked in the twilight Of many a setting sun, And she'd stroke his chin and clap her hands That the beard had not begun: SENTIMENT AND STORY. 21 For though she meant to be brave and good When lie played a hero's part, Yet often the thought of the wooden leg Lay heavy on her heart ! HOWS MY BOY? Sydney Dobell. Ho, sailor of the sea ! How's my boy — my boy? " What's your boy's name, good wife, And in what good ship sailed he?' : My boy John — He that went to sea — What care I for the ship, sailor ? My boy's my boy to me. You come back from sea And not know my John ? I might as well have asked some landsman Yonder down in the town. There's not an ass in all the parish But he knows my John. How's my boy — my boy ? And unless you let me know I'll swear you are no sailor. Blue jacket or no, 22 OPEN SESAME. • ■ • Brass button or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no ! Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton — " Speak low, woman, speak low ! ' And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John ? If I was loud as I am proud I'd sing him over the town ! Why should I speak low, sailor ? " That good ship went down." How's my boy — my boy ? What care I for the ship, sailor, I never was aboard her. Be she afloat, or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound Her owners can afford her ! I say, how's my John ? " Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her." How's my boy — my boy ? What care I for the men, sailor? I'm not their mother — How's my boy — my boy? Tell me of him and no other ! How's my boy — my boy ? SENTIMENT AND STORY. 23 LITTLE BELL. T. B. Westwood. Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray: " Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What's your name?" quoth he — "What's your name? Oh, stop and straight unfold, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold," — "Little Bell," said she. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks — Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks — "Bonny bird," quoth she, " Sing me your best song before I go." "Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he. And the blackbird piped ; you never heard Half* so gay a song from any bird ; — Full of quips and wiles, Now so round and rich, now soft and slow. All for love of that sweet face below, Dimpled o'er with smiles. And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out freely o'er and o'er, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below. All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. 24 OPEN SESAME. Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, And, from out the tree Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear, — While bold blackbird piped, that all might hear, " Little Bell ! " piped he. Little Bell sat down amid the fern : " Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return — Bring me nuts," quoth she. Up, away the frisky squirrel hies — Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes — And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun. In the little lap, dropped one by one; — Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun ! "Happy Bell!' pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down the glade ; — " Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid, Come and share with me ! " Down came squirrel, eager for his fare, — Down came bonny blackbird, I declare! Little Bell gave each his honest share ; Ah, the merry three ! And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below. All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, SENTIMENT AND STORY. 25 And shine out in happy overflow, From her blue, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray : Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. " What good child is this," the angel said, " That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, oh*! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, " Bell, dear Bell ! ' crooned he. " Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, " God doth bless with angels' care ; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee." PRAYING AM) LOVING. S. T. Coleridge. From "The Ancient Mariner." He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small, For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. 26 OPEN SESAME, THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. Samuel Lover. A baby was sleeping ; Its mother was weeping ; For her husband was far on the wild raffing sea : And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!" Her beads while she numbered The baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee. " Oh, blest be that warning, That sweet sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee ! " And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee." The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, Said. •• I knew that the angels were whispering witli thee SENTIMENT AND STORY. 27 THE LITTLE NURSE. From the French of Mme. Tastu. Translated ani> arranged bv thi I My mother lias but just gone out; She'll come back soon, she said. And bade me stay till then about, To watch your curly head. Indeed I wish that she were here ; Why won't you smile, oh, why ? Don't cry, my little brother dear ; baby, don't you cry ! What is there that you'd like of mine? Look, see the carriage come ! Or shall I knock the window pane And beat it like a drum ? Oh, dear ! will nothing make you good ? Stop quick, or I shall fly ! Don't cry, my little brother dear, baby, please don't cry ! I know a story, nice and long; I'll tell it if you will ! — I know a lovely, lovely song; I'll sing if you'll be still ! No; nothing yet but scream and tear: Oh, fie upon you, fie ! Don't cry, my little brother dear ; baby, don't you cry ! 28 OPEN SESAME. You naughty, naughty little child ! Alas ! what shall I do ? I'll pray to Holy Mary mild. She had a baby too — Oh, joy ! here comes our mother ! Oh, how relieved am I ! Don't cry, dear little brother, Please, baby, don't you cry! THE COMMON QUESTION. John G. Whittier. Behind us at our evening meal The gray bird ate his fill, Swung downward by a single claw, And wiped his hooked bill. He shook his wings and crimson tail And set his head aslant, Ami, in his sharp, impatient way. Asked, "What does Charlie want?" " Fie, silly bird ! ' : I answered, " tuck Your head beneath your wing. And go to sleep"; — but o'er and o'er lie asked the self-same tiling. Then, smiling, to myself I said: — I low like arc men and birds ! We all arc saving what lie says, In action and in words. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 29 The boy with whip and top and drum, The girl with hoop and doll. And men with lands and houses, ask The question of poor Poll. However full, with something more We lain the bag would cram ; We sigh above our crowded nets For fish that never swam. No bounty of indulgent Heaven The vague desire can stay; Self-love is still a Tartar mill, For grinding prayers alway. The dear God hears and pities all, He knoweth all our wants; And what we blindly ask of Him, Tlis love withholds or grants. And so I sometimes think our prayer- Might well be merged in one; And nest and perch, and hearth and church, Repeat, "Thy will be done!' A LITTLE GOOSE. Eliza Sproat Turner. The chill November day was done, The working world home faring; The wind came whistling through the itreel And set the gas-lamps flaring •a* '■> 30 OPEN SESAME. And hopelessly and aimlessly The scared old leaves were flying, When, mingled with the sighing wind, I heard a small voice crying. And shivering on the corner stood A child of four or over ; No cloak nor hat her small soft arms And wind-blown curls to cover. Her dimpled face was stained with tears ; Her round blue e}^es ran over ; She cherished in her wee, cold hand A bunch of faded clover. And, one hand round her treasure, while She slipped in mine the other, Half-scared, half-confidential, said, " Oh, please, I want my mother ! ' "Tell me your street and number, pet; Don't cry, I'll take you to it." Sobbing, she answered, "I forget — The orean made me do it. o l '•He came and played at Milly's steps. The monkey took the money, And so I followed down the street, The monkey was so funny ! I've walked about a hundred hours, From one si reel, tO allot her ; The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers; < >h, please, I want my mother ! ' SENTIMENT AND STORY. 31 " But, what's your mother's name, and what The street? Now think a minute." " My mother's name is i Mamma dear ' ; The street — I can't begin it." " But what is strange about the house, Or new, not like the others?" " I guess you mean my trundle-bed, Mine and my little brother's. " Oh, dear ! I ought to be at home, To help him say his prayers, He's such a baby, he forgets, And we are both such players — And there's a bar between, to keep From pitching on each other, For Harry rolls when he's asleep. Oh, dear ! I want my mother." The sky grew stormy ; people passed All muffled, homeward faring ; "You'll have to spend the night with me," I said at last, despairing. I tied a kerchief round her neck — " What ribbon's this, my blossom ? ' "Why, don't you know?' 1 she smiling asked, And drew it from her bosom. A card with number, street, and name ! My eyes astonished met it ; "For," said the little one, "you see I might sometime forget it ; 32 OPEN SESAME. And so I wear a little thing, That tells you all about it ; For mother says she's very sure I would get lost without it." ABOU BEN ADHEM. Leigh Hcnt. Abou Bex Adiiem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And, to the presence in the room, he said, " What writest thou ? " The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord ! ' " And is mine one ? " asked Abou. — " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, But cheerly still ; and said — k - I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And six. wed the names whom love of God had blest; And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! SENTIMENT AND STORY. THE PARROT. 'Jin. mas Campbell. A parrot, from the Spanish main, Full young and early caged came o'er. With bright wings, to the bleak domain Of Mulla's shore. To spicy groves where he had won His plumage of resplendent hue, His native fruits, and skies, and sun, He bade adieu. For these he changed the smoke of turf, A heathery land and misty sky. And turned on rocks and raging surf His golden eye. But petted in our climate cold. He lived and chattered many a day : Until with age, from green and gold His wings grew gray. At last when blind, and seeming dumb, He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more, A Spanish stranger chanced to come To Mulla's shore. He hailed the bird in Spanish speech, The bird in Spanish speech replied ; Flapped round the cage with joyous screech, Dropt down, and died. 34 OPEN SESAME. WE ARE SEVEN. William Wordsworth. I met a little cottage girl : She was eight }^ears old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ? " " How many ? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell She answered, " Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." " You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be V ' SENTIMENT AND STORY. 35 • m * — Then did the little maid reply, ••Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." " You run about, my little maid ; Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen." The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from mother's door. And they are side by side. •• My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. " And often after sunset, sir. When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. " The first that died was sister Jane ; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her from her pain; And then she went away. "So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, 36 OPEN SESAME. • ■ * Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." " How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little maid's reply, " Master ! we are seven." " But they are dead ; those two are dead ; Their spirits are in heaven ! " 'Twas throwing words away ; for still The little maid would have her will; And said. " Nay, we are seven." WHICH SHALL IT BE? Anonymous. "Which shall it be? Which shall it be?" I looked at John, John looked at me ; And when I found that I must speak, My voice seemed strangely low and weak. "Tell me again what Roberl said;" And then I. listening, bent my head — This is his letter : •• I will give A house and land while yon shall live, SENTIMENT AND STORY. 3? If in return from out your seven One child to me for aye is given." I looked at John's old garments worn ; I thought of all that he had borne Of poverty, and work, and care, Which I, though willing, could not share; I thought of seven young mouths to feed. Of seven little children's need, And then of this. "Come, John," said I, " We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep." So, walking hand in hand, Dear John and I surveyed our band : First to the cradle lightly stepped, Where Lilian, the baby, slept. Softly the father stooped to lay His rough hand down in loving way, When dream or whisper made her stir, And huskily he said : " Not her ! ' We stooped beside the trundle bed, And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the boyish faces there, In sleep so pitiful and fair; I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak. " He's but a baby too," said I, And kissed him as we hurried by. Pale, patient Robbie's angel face 38 OPEN SESAME. Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace — "No, for a thousand crowns, not him!" He whispered, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick ! bad Dick ! our wayward son — Turbulent, restless, idle one — Could he be spared ? Nay, He who gave Bade us befriend him to the grave; Only a mother's heart could be Patient enough for such as he ; " And so," said John, " I would not dare To take him from her bedside prayer." Then stole we softly up above, And knelt by Mary, child of love ; " Perhaps for her 'twould better be," I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl that lay Across her cheek in wilful way, And shook his head : " Nay, love, not thee," The while my heart beat audibly. Only one more, our eldest lad, Trusty and truthful, good and glad, So like his father. "No, John, no! I cannot^ will not, let him go." And so we wrote in courteous way, We could not give one child away; And afterwards toil lighter seemed. Thinking of that of which we dreamed, Happy in truth that not one face SENTIMENT AND STORY. 39 Was missed from its accustomed place; Thankful to work for all the seven, Trusting the rest to One in Heaven! THE PET LAMB. William Wordswoh i h. The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ; I heard a voice ; it said, " Drink, pretty creature, drink ! " And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side. Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone. And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone. With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure shook. " Drink, pretty creature, drink ! " she said, in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own. 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare ' I watched them with delight; they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the maiden turned away, But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay. Right toward the lamb she looked ; and from a shady place, I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face. 40 OPEN SESAME. " If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus," thought I, " to her lamb that little maid might sing : " What ails thee, young one ? what ? Why pull so at thy cord ? Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and board ? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; Rest, little young one, rest ; what is't that aileth thee ? " What is it thou would' st seek ? What is wanting to thy heart ? Thy limbs, are they not strong ? and beautiful thou art. This grass is tender grass, these flowers have no peers, And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears. " If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, — This beech is standing by, — its covert thou canst gain. For rain and mountain storms, the like thou needst not fear ; The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here. " Rest, little young one, rest ; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first, in places far away. Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone. •He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home, — SENTIMENT AND STORY. 11 A blessed day for thee ! — then whither would'sl thou roam ? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been. " Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran ; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of milk, — warm milk it is, and new. " Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now ; Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough. My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold, Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold. " It will not, will not rest ! Poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee ? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear. And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear. "Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there. The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry roar like lions for their prey. "Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky ; 42 OPEN SESAME. Night and day thou art safe — our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me ? why pull so at thy chain ? Sleep, — and at break of day I will come to thee again ! " As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers and one half of it was mine. Again and once again did I repeat the song : " Nay," said I, " more than half to the damsel must belong ; For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into m} r own." THE DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. Charles Dickens. From " The Old Curiosity Shot." She was dead. There upon her little bed, she lay at rest. The solemn stillness was no marvel now. She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a crea- ture fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life ; not one who had lived and suffered death. Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter berries and green leaves gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. "When I die, put near me something that had loved the light and had the sky above it always." Those were her words. SENTIMENT AND STORY. \:\ She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird — a poor, slight thing the pres- sure of a finger would have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage; and the strong heart of its child mistress was mute and motionless forever. A TURKISH LEGEND. T. 1!. Aldrich. A certain pasha, dead live thousand years, Once from his harem lied in sudden tears, And had this sentence on the city's gate Deeply engraven, " Only God is great." So these four words above the city's noise Hung like the accents of an angel's voice. And evermore from the high barbacan, Saluted each returning caravan. Lost is that city's glory. Every gust Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown pasha's dust, And all is ruin, save one wrinkled gate Whereon is written, '"Only God is gnat." THE WORLD. Friedrich Schiller. Translation of E. L. Bulwer. There is a mansion vast and fair. That doth on unseen pillars rest ; 44 OPEN SESAME No wanderer leaves the portals there. Yet each how brief a guest ! The craft by which that mansion rose No thought can picture to the soul ; 'Tis lighted by a lamp which throws Its stately shimmer through the whole, As crystal clear it rears aloof The single gem that forms its roof : And never hath the eye surveyed The Master who that mansion made. CONTENT AND DISCONTENT. Richard C. Trench. Some murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue ; And some with thankful love are filled, If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy, gild The darkness of their night. TO-DAY. Thomas CAR1 VLB. So here hath been dawning Another blue daj : SENTIMENT AND STORY. 4,0 Think will thou let it Slip useless away. Out of Eternity This new day is born ; Into Eternity, At night, will return. Behold it aforetime No eye ever did ; So soon it forever From all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning Another blue day ; Think wilt thou let it Slip useless away. A CHILD'S THOUGHT OK GOD. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. They say that God lives very high, But if you look above the pines You cannot see our God ; and why ? And if you dig down in the mines. You never see him in the gold ; Though from him all thai glory shines. God is so good, he wears a fold Of heaven and earth across his I'aee- Like secrets kept, for love, untold. 46 OPEN SESAME. But still I feel that his embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place; As if my tender mother laid On my shut lids her tender pressure. Half-waking me at night, and said, " Who kissed you in the dark, dear guesser ? '•' THE HEAVENLY DOVE. Frederika Bremer. Translation of Mary Howitt. There sitteth a dove, so white and fair, All on the lily spray, And she listeth how to Jesus Christ The little children pray. Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, And to Heaven's gate hath sped, And unto the Father in Heaven she bears The prayers which the children have said. And back she comes from Heaven's gate ; And brings — that Dove so mild — From the Father in Heaven, who hears her speak, A blessing for every child. Then, children, lift up a pious prayer ; It bears whatever you say — That Heavenly Dove, so white and lair., That siis on the lily spray. SENTIMENT AND STORY 47 HUMILITY. K< HI R 1 I ll RRICK. Humble we must be If to Heaven we go. High is the roof there, But the gate is low. WINNING AND LOSING. Dinah Maria Mm 01 k. "Peace on earth and mercy mild," Sing the angels, reconciled, Over each sad warfare done, Each soul-battle lost and won. He that has a victory lost, May discomfit yet a host; And, it often doth befall, He who conquers loses all. FAULTS AND VIRTUES. John Ruskin. Do not think of your faults; still less of others' faults ; in every person who comes near you, look for what is good and strong; honor that; rejoice in it ; and, as you can, try to imitate it ; and } ? our faults will drop off like dead leaves, when their time comes. 48 OPEN SESAME. GOOD NAME. William Shakespeare. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their sonls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. THE MOON. Anonymous. Moon, said the children, Moon, that shineth fair. Why do you stay so far away, so high above us there ? Moon, you must be very cold from shining on the sea ; If you would come and play with us, how happy we should be ! <) children, said the Moon, I shine above your head, That I may light the ships at night,, when the sun has gone to bed ; That I may show the beggar-boy bis way across the moor. And bring the busy farmer borne to his own cottage- door. SENTIMENT AND STORY. H* Moon, said the children, may we shine in your place ? They say that I have sunny hair, and I a sparkling face. To light the ships and beggar-boys we greatly do desire ; And you might come and warm yourself before the nursery lire ! children, said the Moon, we have each allotted parts : 'Tis yours to shine by love divine on happy human hearts ; 'Tis mine to make the pathway bright of wanderers that roam ; 'Tis yours to scatter endless light on those that stay at home ! GOD THE FATHER. 11. \v. Beecher. TfiE sun docs not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for the wide world's joy. The lonely pine on the mountain-top waves its sombre boughs, and cries, " Thou art my sun ! ,: And the little meadow-violet lifts its cup of blue, and whispers with its perfumed breath, " Thou art my sun ! ' And the grain in a thousand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, " Thou art my sun ! ' So God sits effulgent in Heaven, not for a favored 50 OPEN SESAME. few, but for the universe of life ; and there is no crea- ture so poor or so low that he may not look up with childlike confidence, and say, " My Father ! thou art mine i confidence, and say, " My Father ! thou art HAPPINESS. John Keble, There are, in this rude stunning tide Of human care and crime ; With whom the melodies abide Of the everlasting chime; Who carry music in their heart. Through dusty lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily toil with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. SPEAK GENTLY. Anonymous. Speak gently ; it is better far To rule by love than fear; Speak gently ; let no harsh word mar The good we may do here. Speak gently to the little child ; Its love be sure to gain ; Teach it in accents soft and mild ; It may not long remain. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 51 Speak gently to the young; for they Will have enough to bear ; Pass through this life as best they may, Tis full of anxious care. Speak gently to the aged one, Grieve not the care-worn heart, Whose sands of life are nearly run ; Let such in peace depart. Speak gently to the erring ; know They must have toiled in vain ; Perchance unkindness made them so ; Oh, win them back again. Speak gently; 'tis a little- thing Dropped in the heart's deep well ; The good, the joy, that it may bring. Eternity shall tell. ONE BY ONE. Adelaide A. Procter. One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall ; Some are coming, some are going ; Do not strive to grasp them all. One by one thy duties wait thee — Let thy whole strength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach. 52 OPEN SESAME. One by one (bright gifts from heaven) Joys are sent thee here below ; Take them readily when given' — Ready, too, to let them go. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee ; Do not fear an armed band ; One will fade as others greet thee — Shadows passing through the land. Do not look at life's long sorrow ; See how small each moment's pain ; God will help thee for to-morrow, So each day begin again. Every hour that fleets so slowly Has its task to do or bear ; Luminous the crown, and holy, When each gem is set with care. Do not linger with regretting, Or for passing hours despond ; Nor, thy daily toil forgetting, Look too eagerly beyond. Hours are golden links, God's token, Reaching heaven ; but, one by one, Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done. SENTIMENT AND STORY. • 53 DUTY. R. W. Emerson. So nigh is grandeur to our dust. So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, " Thou musty The youth replies, "/ can." TIME. Benjamin Franklin. If Time be of all tilings the most precious, wasting Time must be the greatest prodigality, since lost Time is never found again ; and what we call Time enough, always proves little enough. Let us then be up and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we so move with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things difficult ; but Industry, all easy. He that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night ; while Laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon over- takes him. Drive thy business; let not that drive thee : and early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, and wealthy, and wise. He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare, And he who has one enemy shall meet him everywhere. 54 • OPEN SESAME. • m CONSIDER. Christina G. Rossetti. CONSIDEPv The lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief — We are as they ; Like them we fade away, . As doth a leaf. Consider The sparrows of the air, of small account : Our God doth view Whether they fall or mount — He guards us too. Consider The lilies, that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair — What profits all this care, And all this coil ? I Jonsider The birds, that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; God gives them food — Much more our Father seeks To do us good. SENTIMENT AND STORY 55 GOODNESS. Marcus Aurelius. WHATEVEE any one does or says, I must be good ; just as if the gold, or the emerald, or the purple were always saying this, "Whatever anyone else does, 1 must be emerald and keep my color." TO MY SOUL. Paul Fleming. Translated by the Editors. Grieve not with sighing And crying, — Be still. God is thy guide, Be satisfied, My will! What thou to-day would'st borrow, To-morrow, The One Who stands for all. Shall in thy hands let fall, Thine own. Under Fate's fiat Rest quiet ; Stand fast ! Whate'er God will Of good or ill Is best. 50 OPEN SESAME. THE NOBLE NATURE. Ben Jonson. It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make men better be ; Or standing long an oak three hundred year To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere ; A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauty see ; And in short measures life may perfect be. A WISH. Ben Jonson. The fairy beam upon you. The stars to glister on you ; A moon of light In the noon of night, Till the (ire drake hath o'ergone you Tin* wheel of fortune guide you, The boy with the bow beside you Run aye in the way, Till the bird of day And i he luckier lot betide you ! SENTIMENT AND STORY. ■ i i MARTIN LUTHER'S LETTER TO HIS LITTLE SON. Arranged. Anonymous Translation. Grace and peace in Christ, my darling little son: I am glad to see that you study and pray diligently. Go on doing so, my Johnny, and when I come home I will bring some fine things for you. I know of a beautiful, pleasant garden where many children go, and have lit- tle golden coats, and gather from the trees fine apples, and pears, and cherries and plums ; they sing and play, and are happy; they have beautiful little horses with golden bits and silver saddles. 1 asked the owner of the garden, whose children these were. He replied, "They are children that love to pray and to learn, and are good." I then said, "Dear sir, I, too, have a son, whose name is Johnny Luther. May he not also come into the garden, that he, too, may eat these beautiful apples and pears, and ride on these fine horses, and play with the boys?" The man said, "If he loves to pray and to learn, and is good, he shall come into the garden." And he showed me a fine grass plot in the garden for dancing, and there were hanging nothing but golden fifes and drums and fine silver crossbows. But it was early, and the children had not yet dined ; and as I could not wait for their dancing, I said to the man, " my dear sir, I will hasten away, and write all about this to my dear little Johnny, that he may pray and learn diligently and be good, and then come into this garden." And now I commend you to God. Your dear father, Martin Lutiiek. 58 OPEN SESAME. THREE PAIRS AND ONE. Clement L. Smith. From the German of Friedrich Ruckert. Ears thou hast two and mouth but one: The intent dost seek ? Thou art to listen much, it means, And little speak. Eyes thou hast two and mouth but one : Is the mystery deep ? Much thou shalt see, it means, or much Thy silence keep. Hands thou hast two and mouth but one "Why?" dost repeat? The two are there to labor with, The one to eat. THE TONGUE. John Lvlv. " Eithues." We may see the cunning and curious work of na- ture, which hath barred and hedged nothing in, so strongly as the tongue, with two rows of teeth, and therewith two lips. Besides she hath placed it far from the hearte that it shoulde not utter that which the hearte had conceived ; this also shoulde cause us to be silent, seeing those that use muche talke, 1 hough they speake truely are never believed. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 59 T-HAVE AND Oil ! HAD-T. Translation Anonymous. From the German of Lancheim. There are two little songsters well known in the land. Their names are "I-have" and "Oh! had-I," "I-have" will come tamely and perch on your hand. But " Oh ! had-I " will mock yon most sadly. This bird is at first far less fair to the eye, But his worth is by far more enduring Than a thousand " Oh ! had-I's " that sit far and high On roofs and on trees so alluring. Full many a golden egg this bird will lay, And sing you, " Be cheery ! Be cheery ! ' While merry your life shall be all the long day, And sweet shall your sleep be when weary. But let an " Oh ! had-I " but once take your eye, And a longing to catch him once seize you, He'll give you no comfort nor rest till }"ou die, Life long he'll torment you and tease you. He'll keep you all day running up and down hill, Now racing and panting, now creeping, While far overhead the sweet bird at his will, With his bright, golden plumage is sweeping. Now every wise man who attends to my song, Will count his "I-have" a choice treasure, And if e'er an "Oh! had-I" comes flying along, Will just let him fly at his pleasure. GO OPEN SESAME. LITTLE BROWN HANDS. M. H. Krout. They drive home the cows from the pasture, Up through the long shady lane, Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat-fields. That are yellow with ripening grain. They find in the thick waving grasses, Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows. They gather the earliest snowdrops, And the first crimson buds of the rose. They toss the new hay in the meadow ; They gather the elder-bloom white ; They find where the dusky grapes purple In the soft-tinted October light. They know where the apples hang ripest, And are sweeter than Italy's wines ; They know where the fruit hangs the thickest On the long, thorny blackberry-vines. They gather the delicate sea-weeds, And build tiny castles of sand ; They pick up the beautiful sea-shells, — Fairy barks that have drifted to land. They wave from the tall, rocking tree-tops Where the oriole's hammock-nest swings ; And at night-time are folded in slumber By a song that a fond mother sings. Those who toil bravely are strongest; The humble and poor become great ; SENTIMENT AND STORY. til And so from these brown-handed children Shall grow mighty rulers of state. The pen of the author and statesman, — The noble and wise of the land, — The sword, and the chisel, and palette, Shall be held in the little brown hand. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. Anonymous. Over and over again, No matter which way I turn, I always find in the book of life, Some lesson I have to learn. I must take my turn at the mill, I must grind out the golden grain, I must work at my task with a resolute will, Over and over again. We cannot measure the need Of even the tiniest flower, Nor check the flow of the golden sands That run through a single hour ; But the morning dews must fall, And the sun and the summer rain Must do their part, and perform it all Over and over again. Over and over again The brook through the meadows flows, 62 OPEN SESAME, And over and over again The ponderous mill-wheel goes. Once doing will not suffice, Though doing be not in vain ; And a blessing failing us once or twice, May come if we try again. The path that has once been trod, Is never so rough to the feet ; And the lesson we once have learned, Is never so hard to repeat. Though sorrowful tears must fall, And the heart to its depths be driven With storm and tempest, we need them all To render us meet for Heaven. SUNSHINE. From the French of Delavigne. Translated and arranged by the Editors. When the bright sun Doth smiling rise, A ruddy ball Through cloudy skies, The wood and field To him do yield, And flower and leaf Forget their grief. In childish hearts So springs delight, SENTIMFNT AND STORY 63 Chasing black care Back into night. Joys, like the flowers, In children rise ; They smile with tears Still in their eyes. SIXTY AND SIX. Thomas Wentworth Higginson. " Fons Delictum Domus." Joy of the morning, Darling of dawning. Blithe little, lithe little daughter of mine, While with thee ranging. Sure I'm exchanging Sixty of my years for six years like thine. Wings cannot vie with thee, Lightly I rly with thee, Gay as the thistle-down over the lea ; Life is all magic, Comic or tragic, Played as thou playest it daily with me. Floating and ringing, Thy merry singing Comes when the liffht comes, like that of the birds. List to the play of it. — That is the way of it ; All's in the music and naught in the words. 6-1 OPEN SESAME. Glad or grief -laden, Schubert or Haydn, Ballad of Erin, or merry Scotch lay ; Like an evangel, Some baby angel, Brought from sky-nursery, stealing away. Surely I know it, Artist nor poet Guesses my treasure of jubilant hours. Sorrows, what are they ? Nearer or far, they Vanish in sunshine, like dew from the flowers. Years, I am glad of them ! ^ Would that I had of them More and yet more, while thus mingled with thine. Age, I make light of it, Fear not the sight of it ; Time's but our playmate, whose toys are divine. SEVEN TIMES ONE. Jean Ingelow. There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven ; I've said my "seven times" over and over, Seven times one arc seven. I am old, so old I can write a letter; My birthday lessons arc done; SENTIMENT AND STORY. 65 The lambs play always, they know no better, — They are only one times one. Moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low ; You were bright, ah bright! but your light is failing, — You are nothing now but a bow. You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face ? 1 hope if you have, 3*011 will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow ; You've powdered your legs with gold ! brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold ! columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! And show me your nest, with the young ones in it. — I will not steal it away ; 1 am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet. — I am seven times one to-day. Little things On little wings Bear little souls to Heaven. 66 OPEN SESAME. MY LITTLE LADY. T. B. Westwood. The queen is proud on her throne, And proud are her maids so fine; But the proudest lady that ever was known Is this little lady of mine. And oh ! she flouts me. she flouts me ! And spurns, and scorns, and scouts me ! Though I drop on my knees, and sue for grace. And beg and beseech with the saddest face, Still ever the same she doubts me. She is seven by the calendar, A lily's almost as tall ; But oh ! this little lady's by far The proudest lady of all ! It's her sport and pleasure to flout me ! To spurn and scorn and scout me ! But ah ! I've a notion it's naught but play. And that, say what she will and feign what she may, She can't well do without me ! For at times, like a pleasant tune, A sweeter mood o'ertakes her ; Oh ! then she's sunny as skies of June, And all her pride forsakes her. Oh! she dances around me so fairly! Oh! her laugh rings out so rarely! Oh! she coaxes, and nestles, and peers, and pries, In my puzzled face with her two great eyes, Ami owns she loves me dearly. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 67 THE SCULPTOR. ( rEORGB WASHINGTON DOANE. Chisel in hand stood the sculptor-boy, With his marble block before him ; And his face lit up with a smile of joy As an angel-dream passed o'er him : He carved the dream on that shapeless stone With many a sharp incision ; With Heaven's own light the sculpture shone : He had caught that angel-vision. Sculptors of life are we as we stand With our souls uncarved before us, Waiting the hour when at God's command Our life-dream shall pass o'er us. If we carve it then on the yielding stone With many a sharp incision, Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, Our lives that angel-vision. CHILD AND MOTHER. Thomas Hood. Love thy mother, little one ! Kiss and clasp her neck again ! Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. Love thy mother, little one ! 68 OPEN SESAME. Gaze upon her living eyes, And mirror back her love for thee ! Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Gaze upon her living eyes ! Press her lips, the while they glow With love that they have often told ! Hereafter thou may'st press in woe, And kiss them till thine own are cold. Press her lips, the while they glow ! Oh, revere her raven hair, — Although it be not silver gray ! Too early, Death, led on by care, May snatch, save one dear lock, away. Oh, revere her raven hair ! Pray for her at eve and morn, That Heaven may long the stroke defer ; For thou may'st live the hour forlorn, When thou wilt ask to die with her. Pray for her at eve and morn ! MOTHER, WATCH! Anonymous. Mother, watch the little feet ('limbing o'er the garden-wall, Bounding through the busy street, Ranging cellar, shed, and hall. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 69 Never count the moments lost, Never mind the time it cost s : Little feet will go astray — Guide them, mother, while you may. Mother, watch the little hand Picking berries by the way, Making houses in the sand, Tossing up the fragrant hay. Never dare the question ask, " Why to me this weary task ? ' These same little hands may prove Messengers of light and love. Mother, watch the little heart Beating soft and warm for you ; Wholesome lessons now impart : Keep, oh, keep that young heart true, Extricating every weed ; Sowing good and precious seed, Harvest rich you then may see, Ripening for eternity. NOT A CHILD. Algernon Charles Swinburne. " Not a child ; I call myself a boy," Says my king, with accents stern yet mild. Now nine years have brought him change of joy; "Not a child." 70 OPEN SESAME. How could reason be so far beguiled, Err so far from senses' safe employ, Stray so far from truth or run so wild ? Seeing his face bent over book or toy, "Child' I called him smiling: but he smiled Back, as one too high for vain annoy — " Not a child ! " CROWNS FOR CHILDREN. Anonymous. The children crowned themselves with roses, And all the roses died ! Pale on the soft brown locks they lay, Like a dream of spring on a cold white day, In the barren winter-tide. Throw the fading vision by ! Make a crown that cannot die. The children crowned themselves with diamonds, And could not bear the weight ; Down they droop their weary curls, Like a leaf that falls or a sail that furls, When the night is dark and late. Throw away the useless things ! Crowns should be as light as wings. The children crowned themselves with wishes, And every wish came true; SENTIMENT AND STORY. Love lies soft on each fair head, Kisses dry the tears they shed, — Hope each day is new. Keep that crown, nor keep in vuin ! If it dies, it grows again. WISHING. William Allingham. Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring! The stooping bough above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the Elm-tree for our king! Nay, — stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree, A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay ! The winds would set them dancing. The sun and moonshine glance in. And birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing. Oh, no ! I wish I were a Robin, — A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go. Through forest, field, or garden. And ask no leave or pardon. Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing ! 72 OPEN SESAME. Well, — tell ! where should I fly to, Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before the day was over, Home must come the rover, For mother's kiss, — sweeter this Than an}' other thing. TIRED OF PLAY. N. P. Willis. Tired of play ! tired of play ! What hast thou done this livelong day ? The bird is hushed, and so is the bee, The sun is creeping up steeple and tree ; The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves. And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves ; Twilight gathers, and day is done : How hast thou spent it, precious one ? Playing? But what hast thou done beside, To tell thy mother at eventide ? What promise of morn is left unbroken ? What kind word to thy playmate spoken ? Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven? Bow with thy faults has duty striven? W hat hast thou learned by field and hill, By greenwood path and by singing rill? There will come an end to a longer day, Thai will find thee tired, but not of play. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 73 Well for thee, then, if thy lips can tell A tale like this of a day spent well. If thine open hand hath relieved distress, If thy pity hath sprung, at wretchedness. If thou hast forgiven the sore offence, And humbled thy heart with penitence; If nature's voices have spoken to thee, With their holy meanings, eloquently ; If every creature hath won thy love, From the creeping worm to the brooding dove ; And never a sad, low-spoken word Hath plead with thy human heart unheard ; — Then, when the night steals on as now, It will bring relief to thine aching brow, And with joy and peace at the thought of rest, Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast. LITTLE MOMENTS. Anonymous. Little moments, how they lly, Golden-winged, flitting by, Bearing many things for me Into vast eternity ! Never do they wait to ask If completed is my task. Whether gathering grain or weeds. Doine; g-ood or evil deeds; Onward haste they evermore, Adding all unto their store! 74 OPEN SESAME. And the little moments keep Record, if we wake or sleep, Of our every thought and deed, For us all some time to read. Artists are the moments too, Ever painting something new, On the walls and in the air, Painting pictures everywhere ! If we smile or if we frown, Little moments put it down, And the angel, memory, Guards the whole eternally! Let us then so careful be, That they bear for you and me, On their little noiseless wings Only good and pleasant things; And that pictures which they paint Have no background of complaint : So the angel, memory. May not blush for you and me ! GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-MORNING. I .OKI i I If H CIITON. A faib little girl sat under a tree Sewing as long as her eyes could see; Then smoothed her work and folded it right. And said. "Dear work, good-night, good-night! SENTIMENT AND STORY. 75 Such ;i number of rooks came over her head. Crying "Caw! Caw!' on their way to bed, She .said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good-night, good-night!' The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "Bleat! Bleat!' came over the road: All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, " Good little girl, good-night, good-night ! ' She did not say to the sun, " Good-night ! ' Though she saw him there like a ball of light ; For she knew he had God's time to keep All over the world, and never could sleep. The tall pink foxglove bowed his head ; The violets curtsied, and went to bed ; And good little Lucy tied up her hair. And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. And, while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day ; And all things said to the beautiful sun. "Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun! CHOOSING A NAME. M -. i v I. a'.; i'. 1 have got a new-born sister; I was nigh the first that kissed her When the nursing-woman brought her To papa — his infant daughter! 76 OPEN SESAME. And papa has made the offer, I shall have the naming of her. 'S Now I wonder what would please her Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? Ann and Mary, they're too common; Joan's too formal for a woman ; Jane's a prettier name beside ; 13 ut we had a Jane that died. They would say, if 'twas Rebecca, That she was a little Quaker. Edith's pretty, but that looks Better in old English books ; Ellen's left off long ago ; Blanche is out of fashion now. None that I have named as } T et Are so good as Margaret. Emily is neat and fine ; What do you think of Caroline ? How I'm puzzled and perplexed What to choose or think of next ! I am in a little fever Lest the name that I should give her Should disgrace her or defame her — I will leave papa to name her ! Be gentle! The sea, is held in check, not by a wall of brick, but by a beach of sand. SENTIMENT AND STORY. 77 A NOVEMBER CHILD. R W. Gilder. November winds, blow mild On this new-born child ! Spirit of the autumn wood, Make her gentle, make her good ! Still attend her, And befriend her, Fill her days with warmth and color ; Keep her safe from winter's dolor. On thy bosom Hide this blossom, Safe from summer's rain and thunder ! When these eyes of light and wonder Tire at last of earthly places — Full of years and full of graces — Then, then Take her back to heaven again ! BABY'S SHOES. \V. C. Bennett. On, those little, those little blue shoes! Those shoes that no little feet use ; Oh, the price were high That those shoes could buy, — Those little blue, unused shoes. OPEN SESAME. For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother's eyes meet ; That by God's good will Years since grew still, And ceased from their totter so sweet. And oh, since that baby slept So hushed, how the mother has kept, With a tearful pleasure, That dear little treasure, And over them thought and wept ! For they mind her for evermore Of a patter along the floor ; And blue eyes she sees Look up from her knees, With the look that in life they wore. As they lie before her there, There babbles from chair to chair, A little sweet face That's a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair. Then, oh, wonder not that her heart From all else would rather part, Than those tiny bine shoes That no little feet use. And whose sight makes such fond tears start. SENTIMENT AND STORY 79 PHILIP, MY KING. I iiNAii Maria Mulock. Look at me with thy large brown eyes, Philip, my King! For round thee the purple shadow lies Of babyhood's regal dignities. Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, With Love's invisible sceptre laden ; I am thine Esther to command Till thou shalt find thy joy of the summer tide ! " Sang the wind, as it moved above them : -'Roses were sent for the sun to love them, Dear little buds, in the leaves that hide ! " Sang the trees, as they rustled together: "0 the joy of the summer weather! Roses and lilies, how do you fare?" 1 it was to Philip Bourke Marston that Miss Mulock's poem, " Philip, my King," was addressed in Ins Infancy. In after life lie met. with many misfortunes, and entirely losl Ids eye-Sight. lie was frequently called " the blind poet." SENTIMENT AND STORY. -1 Sang the red rose, and Bang the white "Glad we are of the sun's large light, And the songs of the birds that dart through the air." Lily, and rose, and tall green tree, Swaying houghs where the bright birds be, Thrilled by music and thrilled by wings, How glad they were on that summer day! Little they recked of cold skies and gray, Or the dreary dirge that a storm-wind sings ! Golden butterflies gleam in the sun, Laugh at the flowers, and kiss each one ; And great bees come, with their sleepy tune, To sip their honey and circle round ; And the flowers are lulled by that drowsy sound, And fall asleep in the heart of the noon. A small white cloud in a sky of blue : Roses and lilies, what will they do ? For a wind springs up and sings in the trees. Down comes the rain ; the garden's awake : Roses and lilies begin to quake, That were rocked to sleep by the gentle breeze. Ah, roses and lilies ! Each delicate petal The wind and the rain with fear unsettle — This way and that way the tall trees sway : But the wind goes by, and the rain stops soon. And smiles again the face of the noon, And the flowers grow glad in the sun's warm ray. 82 OPEN SESAME. Sing, my lilies, and sing, my roses, With never a dream that the summer closes ! But the trees are old; and I fancy they tell. Each unto each, how the summer flies: They remember the last year's wintry skies ; But that summer returns the trees know well. THE BLIND BOY. COLLEY ClBBEK. 0, say, what is that thing called light, Which I must ne'er enjoy ? What are the blessings of the sight ? tell your poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see ; You say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warm, but how can he Make either day or night ? My day and night myself I make, Whene'er I sleep or play, And could I always keep awake, Witli me 'twere always day. Willi heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear A loss 1 ne'er can know. SENTIMENT AND STORY. Then let not what I cannot have My peace of mind destroy; While thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy ! I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. Thomas Hood. I remember, I remember The house where I was born ; The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day ; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of lisrht ! o The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum, on his birthday, — The tree is living yet ! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; 84 OPEN SESAME: My spirit flew in feathers then. That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever of my brow ! I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. Samuel Woodworth. How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it; The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well ; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered buckel which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure; For oftoi at noon when returned from the field, SENTIMENT AND STORY. 85 I found it the source of ;tn exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing. And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! Not a full-blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from that loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well ; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well. HOME, SWEET HOME. John Howard Payne. 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there. Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with else- where. Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home! 86 OPEN SESAME. An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain : Ah, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds singing sweetly that come at my call — Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all. Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! FAREWELL ADVICE. , Chakles Kingsley. Farewell, dear child, I have no song to give thee. No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray : But ere we part one lesson I would leave thee, For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever. Do noble things, not dream them all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song. LIFE'S "GOOD-MORNING." A. I.. Barbauld; Life! we have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather. Tis hard to pail, when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, ( 'house 1 bine own t inie ; Say not " : flood-night," but in some brighter clime Bid me •• (iood-niorning." NATURE. PLAYTIME AND MEMORY RHYMES. SCULPTURE BY LUCA DELLA ROBBIA. FLORENCE. NATURE. -oo^t