Sad was To m on Sat ur day,
To bury hi s wife on Sunday .
WEE WILLIE WINKIE.
Wee Willie Winkie
Runs thr ough the town,
Upstai rs an d downstai rs,
In hi s n ight- gown ;
Tapping at the window,
Cryi n g at the l ock,
Are the babes in their bed
Fo r i t ’ s now ten o ’ clock. ”
Of spe ckl ed eggs the bi rdie sings
An d nests among the tr ees ;
The sai l or sings o f ro pe s an d things
In ships upon the seas .
The chi l dr en sing in far Japan ,
The chi ldr e n sing in Spain ;
The organ with the or gan man
I s singi n g i n the rai n .
The friendly co w all r e d an d white,
I l ove with al l my heart ; She gives me cr eam with all he r might, To e at with apple- tart .
She wanders l owing her e an d there , And yet she cannot st ray, All In the pleasant Open ai r , The pl easant light of day
And blown by all the winds that pass And wet with all the shower s, She walks am ong the mea dow gras s And eats the meadow flowers .
A fai r littl e girl sat u nder a t r ee, Sewing a s l ong as he r eyes could se e ; Then smoothed he r work an d fol ded i t right
And said, Dear work, good night, go o d night !
Such a number of r ooks cam e over he r head,
C rying Caw ! Caw on their way to bed,
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
Litt le bl ack things , good- night, good- n ight !
The hor se s neighed, an d the oxen l owed,
The sheep’ s Bleat ! Bleat came over
r oad ;
All s eeming to say, with a quiet delight, Good little gi r l , good- n ight, good- night
She did not say to the sun , Good- night
Though she saw him ther e like a ball of light ;
Fo r she knew he had God’ s tim e to keep
All over the worl d an d never coul d sl eep .
The tall pink foxgl ove bowed his head ;
The viol ets cur tsied, an d went to bed ;
And good littl e Lucy tied up he r hai r ,
An d said, on he r knees, he r favorite prayer .
And whi le on h e r pi ll ow she s oft ly lay,
She knew nothing mor e till again i t was day ;
And all things said to the beautiful sun , Good- morning, good- morning ! o ur wor k
begun .
”
MOTHER’S EY ES.
What ar e the songs the mother sings
Of bi r ds an d flower s an d pr et ty things