Come, little children, come with me, 

Where the winds are singing merrily, 

As they toss the crimson clover; 

We’ll walk on the hills and by the brooks, 

And I'll show you stories in prettier books 

Than the ones you are poring over.

Do you think you could learn to sing a song, 

Though you drummed, and hummed it all day long,

Till hands and brains were aching, 

That would match the clear, untutored notes 

That drop from the pretty, tender throats 

Of birds, when the day is breaking?

Did you ever read, on any page,

Though written with all the wisdom of age

And all the truth of preaching. 

Any lesson that taught you half so plain 

Content with your humble work and gain,

As the golden bee is teaching?

For see as she floats on her airy wings,

How she sings and works, and works and sings,

Never stopping nor staying; 

Showing us clearly what to do 

To make of duty a pleasure, too,

And to make our work but playing.

Do you suppose that a book can tell 

Maxims of prudence, half so well

As the little ant, who is telling 

To man, as she patiently goes and comes, 

Bearing her precious grains and crumbs,

How want is kept from the dwelling?

Whatever a story can teach to you 

Of the good a little thing may do,

The hidden brook is showing, 

Whose quiet way is only seen 

Because of its banks, so fresh and green,

And the flowers beside it growing.

If we go where the golden lily grows, 

Where, clothed in raiment fine, she glows,

Like a king in all his glory, 

And ponder over each precious leaf, 

We shall find there, written bright and brief,

The words of a wondrous story.

We shall learn the beautiful lesson there 

That our Heavenly Father's loving care

Even the lily winueth; 

For rich in beauty there she stands, 

Arrayed by His gracious, tender hands, 

Though she toileth not, nor spinneth.

There isn't a blossom under our feet, 

But has some teaching short and sweet,

That is richly worth the knowing, 

And the roughest hedge, or the sharpest thorn, 

Is blessed with power to guard or warm,

If we will but heed its showing.

So do not spoil your happy looks 

By poring always over your books, 

Written by scholars and sages;

For there's many a lesson in brooks or birds 

Told in plainer and prettier words, 

Than those in your printed pages.

And yet, I would not have you think, 

No wisdom comes through pen and ink,

And all books are dull and dreary, 

For not all of life can be pleasant play, 

Nor every day a holiday;

And tasks must be hard and weary.

And that is the very reason why

I would have you learn from earth and sky

Their lessons of good, and heed them; 

For there our Father, with loving hand, 

Writes truths that a child may understand,

So plain that a child can read them.

 Phoebe Cary.

Sweet Fragrance



Sweet Fragrance



Sweet Fragrance