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  PLEASING

  POETRY AND PICTURES:

  FOR THE

  MIND AND THE EYE.

  [Illustration]

  Here’s a pretty new Book, full of verses to sing,
  And Mary can read it--oh, what a fine thing;
  Then such pretty verses, and pictures too, look!
  Oh, I’m glad I can read such a beautiful book.


  NEW HAVEN.
  PUBLISHED BY S. BABCOCK.
  1849.




[Illustration: THE BEE-HIVE.]




PLEASING

POETRY AND PICTURES.

[Illustration]




The Little Busy Bee.

_An Example of Industry, for Young Children._


  How doth the little busy Bee
    Improve each shining hour,
  And gather honey all the day
    From every opening flower?

  How skilfully she builds her cell,--
    How neat she spreads her wax,
  And labors hard to store it well
    With the sweet food she makes.

  In works of labor, or of skill,
    I must be busy too,
  For Satan finds some mischief still
    For idle hands to do.

  In books, or work, or healthful play,
    Let my first years be past,
  That I may give for every day
    Some good account at last.

[Illustration]




The Dead Bird.

_What we call Sport is too often Cruelty._


  Ah! there it falls, and now ’tis dead!
  The shot went thro’ its pretty head,
    And broke its shining wing?
  How dull and dim its closing eyes;
  How cold, and stiff, and still it lies!
    Poor harmless little thing!

  It was a lark, and in the sky,
  In mornings fine, it mounted high,
    To sing a pretty song;
  Cutting the fresh and healthy air,
  It whistled out its music there,
    As light it skimmed along.

  How little thought its pretty breast,
  This morning, when it left its nest
    Hid in the springing corn,
  To find some breakfast for its young,
  And pipe away its morning song,
    It never should return.

[Illustration: THE DEAD BIRD.]

  Those pretty wings shall never more
  Its tender nestlings cover o’er,
    Or bring them dainties rare:
  But long with gaping beaks they’ll cry,
  And then they will with hunger die,
    All in the open air!

  Poor little bird! If people knew
  The sorrows little birds go through,
    I think that even boys
  Would never call it sport and fun
  To stand and fire a frightful gun,
    For nothing but the noise.

[Illustration]




My Kind Mother.

_A Dutiful Child is the Joy of its Parents._


  I must not tease my mother,
    For she is very kind;
  And every thing she says to me,
    I must directly mind;
  For when I was a baby,
    And could not speak or walk,
  She let me in her bosom sleep,
    And taught me how to talk.

  I must not tease my mother;
    And when she likes to read,
  Or has the headache, I will step
    Most silently, indeed.
  I will not choose a noisy play,
    Or trifling troubles tell;
  But sit down quiet by her side,
    And try to make her well.

  I must not tease my mother;
    I have heard my father say,
  When I was in my cradle sick,
    She tended me all day.
  She lays me in my little bed,
    She gives me clothes and food,
  And I have nothing else to pay,
    But trying to be good.

  I must not tease my mother;
    She loves me all the day,
  And she has patience with my faults,
    And teaches me to pray;
  How much I’ll strive to please her
    She every hour shall see,
  For, should she go away, or die,
    What would become of me!

[Illustration]




Good Night.

_Little Children should go to Bed Early._


  The sun is hidden from our sight,
    The birds are sleeping sound;
  ’Tis time to say to all, “Good night,”
    And give a kiss all round.

  Good night! my father, mother dear,
    Now kiss your little son;
  Good night! my friends, both far and near;
    Good night! to every one.

  Good night! ye merry, merry birds,
    Sleep well till morning light;
