Various - Graded Memory Selections

The daisies white are nursery maids with frills upon their caps;
And daisy buds are little babes they tend upon their laps.
Sing “Heigh-ho!” while the winds sweep low,
Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

The daisy babies never cry, the nurses never scold;
They never crush the dainty frills about their cheeks of gold;
But pure and white, in gay sunlight
They’re nid-nodding—pretty sight.

The daisies love the golden sun, upon the clear blue sky,
He gazes kindly down on them and winks his jolly eye;
While soft and low, all in a row,
Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

There surely is a gold mine somewhere underneath the grass,
For dandelions are popping out in every place you pass.
But if you want to gather some you’d better not delay,
For the gold will turn to silver soon and all will blow away.

There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket,
And the breeze will swing and the gale will rock it,
Till three little birds on the thin edge teeter,
And our God be glad and our world be sweeter.

Do thy duty, that is best,
Leave unto the Lord the rest.

Whene’er a task is set for you,
Don’t idly sit and view it—
Nor be content to wish it done;
Begin at once and do it.

Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest, brave and true,
Moment by moment, the long day through.

There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There’s no rain left in heaven;
I’ve said my “seven times” over and over,
Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done;
The lambs play always, they know no better—
They are only one times one.

O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;
You were bright, ah bright! but your light is failing,—
You are nothing now but a bow.

You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet bee, you’re a dusty fellow;
You’ve powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

And show me your nest with the young ones in it,—
I will not steal it away;
I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet,—
I am seven times one to-day!

God bless the little stockings all over the land to-night
Hung in the choicest corners, in the glory of crimson light.
The tiny scarlet stockings, with a hole in the heel and toe,
Worn by the wonderful journeys that the darlings have to go.
And Heaven pity the children, wherever their homes may be,
Who wake at the first gray dawning, an empty stocking to see.

What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
“Let me fly,” says little birdie,
“Mother, let me fly away.”

“Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger.”
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
“Let me rise and fly away.”

“Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby, too, shall fly away.”

Suppose, my little lady,
Your doll should break her head;
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?

And wouldn’t it be pleasanter
To treat it as a joke,
And say you’re glad ’twas Dolly’s,
And not your head, that broke?

Suppose you’re dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down;
Will it clear off any sooner
Because you scold and frown?

And wouldn’t it be nicer
For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?

Suppose your task, my little man,
Is very hard to get;
Will it make it any easier
For you to sit and fret?

And wouldn’t it be wiser,
Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest,
And learn the thing at once?

What does the daisy see
In the breezy meadows tossing?
It sees the wide blue fields o’er head
And the little cloud flocks crossing.

What does the daisy see
Round the sunny meadows glancing?
It sees the butterflies’ chase
And the filmy gnats at their dancing.

What does the daisy see
Down in the grassy thickets?
The grasshoppers green and brown,
And the shining, coal-black crickets.

It sees the bobolink’s nest,
That no one else can discover,
And the brooding mother-bird
With the floating grass above her.

Have you ever heard the wind go “Yoooooo”?
’Tis a pitiful sound to hear;
It seems to chill you through and through
With a strange and speechless fear.
’Tis the voice of the wind that broods outside
When folks should be asleep,
And many and many’s the time I’ve cried
To the darkness brooding far and wide
Over the land and the deep:
“Whom do you want, O lonely night,
That you wail the long hours through?”
And the night would say in its ghostly way:
“Yoooooo! Yoooooooooo! Yoooooooooo!”

My mother told me long ago
When I was a little lad
That when the night went wailing so,
Somebody had been bad;
And then when I was snug in bed,
Whither I had been sent,
With the blankets pulled up round my head,
I’d think of what my mother said,
And wonder what boy she meant.
And, “Who’s been bad to-day?” I’d ask
Of the wind that hoarsely blew,
And the voice would say in its meaningful way:
“Yoooooo! Yoooooooooo! Yoooooooooo!”

That this was true, I must allow—
You’ll not believe it though,
Yes, though I’m quite a model now,
I was not always so.
And if you doubt what things I say,
Suppose you make the test;
Suppose that when you’ve been bad some day,
And up to bed you’re sent away
From mother and the rest—
Suppose you ask, “Who has been bad?”
And then you’ll hear what’s true;
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone:
“Yoooooo! Yoooooooooo! Yoooooooooo!”

Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise:
Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes:
Sweet little violets hid from the cold,
Put on your mantles of purple and gold.
Daffodils, daffodils, say, do you hear?
Summer is coming and springtime is here.