Spring Blossoms

Excerpt

SPRING BLOSSOMS.

Here, for the infant minds, fair spring,
Blossoms of bright truth we bring,
Seeds of virtue there to sow,
Ere a single weed can grow.

Here may you learn how sweet the bliss,
To worship nature’s loveliness,
Escaping through her flow’ry charm,
Each thought or wish to do a harm.

For when the tender buds of truth,
Expand within the minds of youth,
They cast a bloom around the heart
That will not but with life depart.

Then take these tender blossoms rare,
Preserve their sweets with gentle care,
And ev’ry day thro’ life you’ll find
New flowers blooming in your mind.

This is Robinson Crusoe’s man, whom he named Friday, because he fell in with him on that day of the week. When Man Friday first saw Robinson Crusoe, he offered to be his servant; he was accepted as such, and Crusoe found him very useful, for having been born in that desolate country where Crusoe had been cast away, he was well acquainted with the forms and customs of the neighboring inhabitants, as well as with all the secret caverns and other mysterious places upon the islands.

He also relieved the solitude of poor Crusoe much; for man, even though he choose the life of a Hermit, soon finds that the society of his fellows is necessary to his happiness, and that the words of the Almighty are as true now as in the beginning—“It is not good for man to be alone.”

JANE AND HER NEEDLE.

My shining needle! much I prize
Thy tender form and slender size,
And well I love thee now;
Though when I first began to sew,
Before thy proper use I knew,
And often pricked my fingers too,
A trial sore wert thou.
Then speed thee on my needle bright,
The love of thee makes labor light.

Oh, soon thy motions to control,
In collar, wristband, button-hole,
My ready hand attains;
And with thee I can help to form,
Full many a garment stout and warm,
To shield from winter’s wind and storm,
The aged and the blind.
Then speed thee on my needle bright,
The love of thee makes labor light.

See Julia and her sister Jane,
On the grass bed of velvet green,
How each shows her care and love,
For her sweet pet turtle dove.

Pillowed on their guiltless breast,
Like a warm and living nest;
They seem to draw an early sense,
Of purity and innocence.

Fann’d by their soft and tender wings,
A moral from their pressure springs;
A wish in innocence to move,
As gently as the peaceful dove.

Oh! ever may such living toys,
Be the theme of childhood’s joys,
And cultivate as years increase,
The love of virtue, truth and peace.

MY PRETTY POLLY.

Better than hoop or doll,
I love my pretty chattering poll,
For tho’ the creature mocks my words
I know her mock’ry but a bird’s.

And while upon my neck she’ll loll,
And screaming out, “Pretty Poll,”
I learn from the sweet chattering elf,
To not have too much tongue myself.

I learn how many girls there be,
Who without thinking talk like she,
And parrot like they ever chatter,
When they should think of something better....