Do not rudely point or touch:
Do not eat and drink too much:
Finish what you have, before
You even ask, or send for more:
Never crumble or destroy

Food that others might enjoy;
They who idly crumbs will waste
Often want a loaf to taste!
Never spill your milk or tea,
Never rude or noisy be;

Never choose the daintiest food,
Be content with what is good:
Seek in all things that you can
To be a little gentleman.

THE CRUST OF BREAD

I MUST not throw upon the floor
The crust I cannot eat;
For many little hungry ones
Would think it quite a treat.

My parents labor very hard
To get me wholesome food;
Then I must never waste a bit
That would do others good.

For wilful waste makes woeful want,
And I may live to say,

Oh! how I wish I had the bread
That once I threw away!

"HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE"

How doth the little busy bee

Improve each shining hour,

And gather honey all the day

From every opening flower!

"Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite" 99

How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well

With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labor or of skill,

I would be busy too;

For Satan finds some mischief still

For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,

That I may give for every day

Some good account at last.

Isaac Watts [1674-1748]

"LET DOGS DELIGHT TO BARK AND BITE”

LET dogs delight to bark and bite,

For God hath made them so;

Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For 'tis their nature, too.

But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise;

Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes.

Let love through all your actions run,
And all your words be mild;

Live like the Blessed Virgin's Son,

That sweet and lovely child.

His soul was gentle as a lamb,
And, as His stature grew,
He grew in favor both with man,
And God His Father, too.

Now Lord of all, He reigns above,
And from his heavenly throne
He sees that children dwell in love,
And marks them for His own.

Isaac Watts [1674-1748]

815456

THE SLUGGARD

'Tis the voice of a sluggard; I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon; I must slumber again";
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed

Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.

"A little more sleep, and a little more slumber";

Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number;
And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands
Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling he stands.

I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher;
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;
And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs.

I made him a visit, still hoping to find

That he took better care for improving his mind;
He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking.
But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.

Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me;
That man's but a picture of what I might be;
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,
Who taught me betimes to love working and reading."
Isaac Watts [1674-1748]

THE VIOLET

Down in a green

and shady bed

A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,

As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,

Its colors bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Dirty Jim

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;

And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see;

That I may also learn to grow

In sweet humility.

ΙΟΙ

Jane Taylor [1783-1824]

DIRTY JIM

THERE was one little Jim,

'Tis reported of him,

And must be to his lasting disgrace,

That he never was seen

With hands at all clean,

Nor yet ever clean was his face.

His friends were much hurt

To see so much dirt,

And often they made him quite clean;

But all was in vain,

He got dirty again,

And not at all fit to be seen.

It gave him no pain

To hear them complain,

Nor his own dirty clothes to survey;

His indolent mind

No pleasure could find

In tidy and wholesome array.

The idle and bad,

Like this little lad,

May love dirty ways, to be sure;

But good boys are seen,

To be decent and clean,

Although they are ever so poor.

Jane Taylor [1783-1824]

THE PIN

"DEAR me! what signifies a pin,
Wedged in a rotten board?
I'm certain that I won't begin,
At ten years old, to hoard;
I never will be called a miser,
That I'm determined," said Eliza.

So onward tripped the little maid,
And left the pin behind,
Which very snug and quiet lay,
To its hard fate resigned;

Nor did she think (a careless chit)
'Twas worth her while to stoop for it.

Next day a party was to ride,

To see an air balloon;

And all the company beside

Were dressed and ready soon; But she a woeful case was in,

For want of just a single pin.

In vain her eager eyes she brings,

To every darksome crack;

There was not one, and yet her things

Were dropping off her back.

She cut her pincushion in two,

But no, not one had fallen through.

At last, as hunting on the floor,
Over a crack she lay,

The carriage rattled to the door,

Then rattled fast away;

But poor Eliza was not in,

For want of just a single pin!

There's hardly anything so small,
So trifling or so mean,
That we may never want at all,
For service unforeseen;