THE LAMB. LITTLE lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee: Little lamb, God bless thee ! THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. My mother bore me in the southern wild, My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, pointing to the East, began to say: Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat away, And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; 'For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear, The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, Saying, "Come out from the grove, my love and care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice." Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me, And thus I say to little English boy: When I from black, and he from white cloud free, I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear And be like him, and he will then love me. THE BLOSSOM. MERRY, merry sparrow! Sees you, swift as arrow, Pretty, pretty robin! Under leaves so green Hears you sobbing, sobbing, THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. WHEN my mother died I was very young, There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said, 'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.' And so he was quiet, and that very night, And by came an angel, who had a bright key, Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, THE LITTLE BOY LOST. FATHER, father, where are you going? Speak, father, speak to your little boy, The night was dark, no father was there. The mire was deep, and the child did weep, THE LITTLE BOY FOUND. THE little boy lost in the lonely fen, He kissed the child, and by the hand led, Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale, |