Happy Days for Boys and Girls. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.
calleth and calleth year by year
Now there, now here;
Ever He maketh the way appear.”
Dear little birds, He calleth me
Who calleth ye:
Would that I might as trusting be!
FOR THE CHILDREN
COME stand by my knee, little children,
Too weary for laughter or song;
The sports of the daylight are over,
And evening is creeping along;
The snow-fields are white in the moonlight,
The winds of the winter are chill,
But under the sheltering roof-tree
The fire shineth ruddy and still.
You sit by the fire, little children,
Your cheeks are ruddy and warm;
But out in the cold of the winter
Is many a shivering form.
There are mothers that wander for shelter,
And babes that are pining for bread;
Oh, thank the dear Lord, little children,
From whose tender hand you are fed.
Come look in my eyes, little children,
And tell me, through all the long day,
Have you thought of the Father above us,
Who guarded from evil our way?
He heareth the cry of the sparrow,
And careth for great and for small;
In life and in death, little children,
His love is the truest of all.
Now come to your rest, little children,
And over your innocent sleep,
Unseen by your vision, the angels
Their watch through the darkness shall keep;
Then pray that the Shepherd who guideth
The lambs that He loveth so well
May lead you, in life’s rosy morning,
Beside the still waters to dwell.
REASON AND INSTINCT
ARE dogs endowed with reason? As you grow up, you will spend many happy hours in the contemplation of this interesting question. It does sometimes seem as if there could be no possible doubt that dogs, as well as horses, elephants, and some other of the higher animals, are gifted with the dawn of reason, so extraordinary are some of their acts.
It is but a few days since a dog in Vermont saved a house from burning, and possibly the inmates. The dog discovered the fire in the kitchen, flew to his master’s apartment, leaped upon his bed, and so aroused the people to a sense of their danger.
“As I was walking out one frosty morning with a large Newfoundland dog,” says the Rev. J. C. Atkinson, “I observed the animal’s repeated disappointment on putting his head down to drink at sundry ice-covered pools. After one of these disappointments, I broke the ice with my foot for my thirsty companion. The next time Tiger was thirsty, he did not wait for me to ‘break the ice,’ but with his foot, or, if too strong, by jumping upon it, he obtained water for himself.”
Here seems to be the manifestation of a desire to learn from observation.
After the battle of Fredericksburg, it fell to my duty to search a given district for any dead or wounded soldiers there might be left, and to bring relief. Near an old brick dwelling I discovered a soldier in gray who seemed to be dead. Lying by his side was a noble dog, with his head flat upon his master’s neck. As I approached, the dog raised his eyes to me good-naturedly, and began wagging his tail; but he did not change his position. The fact that the animal did not growl, that he did not move, but, more than all, the intelligent, joyful expression of his face, convinced me that the man was only wounded, which proved to be the case. A bullet had pierced his throat, and faint from the loss of blood, he had fallen down where he lay. His dog had actually stopped the bleeding from the wound by laying his head across it. Whether this was casual or not, I cannot say. But the shaggy coat of the faithful creature was completely matted with his master’s blood.
Strange as these facts may appear, we should not confound INSTINCT with intelligence which comes from REASON. There is a wide difference between them. Before long I propose to discuss this matter to some extent, in an article which I have already begun.
TOUCH NOT
TOUCH not the tempting cup, my boy,
Though urged by friend or foe;
Dare, when the tempter urges most,
Dare nobly say, No – no!
The joyous angel from on high
Shall tell your soul the reason why.
Touch not the tempting cup, my boy;
In righteousness be brave;
Take not the first, a single step,
Towards a drunkard’s grave;
The widow’s groan, the orphan’s sigh,
Shall tell your soul the reason why.
CHILDREN
WHAT could we without them,
Those flowers of life?
How bear all the sorrows
With which it is rife?
As long as they blossom,
Whilst brightly they bloom,
Our own griefs are nothing,
Forgotten our gloom.
We joy in the sunshine —
It sheds on them light;
We welcome the shower —
It makes them more bright;
On our pathway of thorns
They are thrown from above,
And they twine round about us,
And bless us with love.
Bright, beautiful flowers,
So fresh and so pure!
How could we without them
Life’s troubles endure?
So guileless and holy,
Such soothers of strife,
What could we without them,
Sweet flowers of life?
THE WHITE BUTTERFLY
VERY slowly and wearily over road and hedge flew a white butterfly one calm May evening; its wings had been torn and battered in its flight from eager pursuers, who little cared that their pleasure was another’s pain. On, on, went the fugitive, until it came to a little garden so sweet and quiet that it rested from its flight and said, “Here, at least, I shall find peace; these gentle flowers will give me shelter.” Then, with eager swiftness, it flew to a stately peony. “Oh, give me shelter, thou beautiful flower!” it murmured as it rested for a second upon its crimson head – a second only, for, with a jerk and an exclamation of disgust, the peony cast the butterfly to the ground. With a low sigh it turned to the pansy near. Well, the pansy wished to be kind, but the butterfly was really very tattered and dirty; and then velvet soils so easily that she must beg to be excused. The wall-flower, naturally frank and good-natured, had been so tormented all day by those troublesome bees that she solemnly vowed she would do nothing more for anybody.
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