LITTLE VERSES FOR LITTLE PEOPLE

THE REASON

By Laura Cromer Hemingway, Kingstree, S. C.

My last year's dresses are so small

I cannot wear them now at all;
'Cause last year I was two, but now
I'm three, and old enough to bow

When people pass and tell me "Howdy."

I asked my mamma why I grew

So much each year, as small girls do; She smiled and said that every year I'm growing sweeter and more dear

I must have extra room to hold it!

LITTLE MISS 'FRAID-CAT

By Miss Erroll Hay Colcock, Hendersonville, N. C.

Little Miss 'Fraid-Cat

Sat on a door-mat

Warming herself in the sun; When along came old Bowser, Who barking did rouse her,

And oh, how Miss 'Fraid-Cat did run!

KINDERGARTEN RHYMES

By Ella Mack Uray, Exeter, Cal. One day old Mister Spider Wove his silky web much wider.

He thought it would be fun

To catch every single one
Of the little flies

With their shiny eyes;

But the flies were cunning too,

And right past his web they flew.

The little crickets chirp at night
Before your eyes are shut up tight.
They're glad because the dark has come
And that is why they sing and hum.

THE BEES

By Edward Nielsen, Portland, Ore. In the orchard, beaneath the trees I love to sit and watch the bees. They buzz about where e'er they please And make a tiny little breeze.

BIBLE VERSES

By F. G. Sanders, Oakville, Ont.

In the beginning God made the world,
And filled it full of things;
Trees, and flowers, and animals,

And birds with brilliant wings.

He planted then a garden,

Most wonderful to see,

And in it placed two people,

To live and happy be.

The man, his name was Adam,
And Eve she was his wife,

JACK FROST

Jack Frost went by our house last night

I had the windows fastened tight;

I knew he'd leave a picture there
Of bird and bee in frosty snare.

And sure enough in frost chain light,
He'd bound my friends of summer bright,
But sunbeams came the sight to see
And let the captives all go free.

WHY CHRISTMAS COMES SO LATE

By Paula Revere, San Francisco Near the very last day of the very last month Oh! such an age to wait!

Comes the very best day of all the year,
Tho it is so very late.

For I must say that a jollier time Than Christmas can't be found, With everybody so smiling and gay And showing their presents around.

But never do we once forget

The Gift that brought the Day
The Christ, who once a tiny Babe
Low in a Manger lay.

I think the dear Lord sent His Gift
When all the months had passed,
Because, like folks He wished to save
The best until the last!

AT THE SHORE

J. Lilian Vandevere, St. Louis, Mo.

When all of us are at the shore
My sister is afraid.
She floats around with water wings,
Or else she'll only wade.
My mother finds a shady spot,

And there she sits and sits.
The water's shiny green and warm,
But she just knits and knits.
My father says a fishing boat
Is good enough for him,
But I put on my bathing suit.
And swim, and swim, and swim!

Col. Parker in Talks on Pedagogies"

"There are many parents who shudder at the myth of Santa Claus, an invisible being, that brings its children gifts; but that invisible being to the child's weak apprehension, is the foreshadowing of the All-Giver, the forerunner of the One who came to man on that blessed Christmas night. No rough voice and no ignorant soul should ever tell the little child that Santa Claus does not exist, for Santa Claus is the foreshadowing of the All-Giver, All Lover, the One who Gives because He loves.

DECEMBER

MRS. SANTA CLAUS

By F. G. Sanders, Oakville, Ont.
Have you ever heard of Mrs. Claus
Who lives at the far North Pole?
She is round and fat, and old and wise,
A merry, content old soul.

From morning till night, she works away
Always, she's making toys,

To fill up old Santa's Christmas bags.
She makes up dollies, of every kind
Some wax with golden hair,

Some large, some small, some made of rag

Some dark, some brown, some fair.

There are baby dolls, with dimples sweet,

There are dollies dressed like birdies

There are dollies dressed in out-door clothes, All ready to take their rides.

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And covered deep, the flowers sleep

Beneath their snowy bed"

Tom is on his snow-shoes

Gliding o'er the snow,
He will race with Father
Oh! how fast they'll go.

"Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh

O'er the fields we go, laughing all the way
Bells on bob-tail ring-keeping spirits bright
What fun it is to ride and sing

Our sleighing song to-night."

"Twas fine and cold the other night

And Tom and sister Kate

Went down with me right to the lake

To have a little skate.

The ice was keen, our skates were sharp

We skated straight ahead

Till father came and called for us 'Twas time to go to bed.

There are balls of wool, red, white and blue

For babies to toss in the air,

There are caps and mitts and ties and scarfs

All things that a child can wear.

You should see the work-shop where Mrs. Claus works,

Its long and high and wide,

Its made of snow, and its lined with ice

The ceiling, and floors and side.

And Mrs. Claus stitches and cuts and snips

As busy, as busy can be

And she sings a song, as she works along A stiching for you and me.

Hark the bells are ringing gay 'Tis the eve of Christmas Day Holidays will soon be here Full of happiness and cheer.

"Oh! who can tell the brightest month, The dearest and the best? We really think December is

The crown of all the rest.

For that's the happy month that brings

The Christmas joy and mirth,

And tells us of the little child

Who came from Heaven to earth."

"May Christmas time be jolly,

With mistle-toe and holly,

With gifts and cheer

And good friends near May Christmas time be jolly With mistle-toe and holly."

FOR THE CARES THAT INFEST THE DAY

By Florence Peasley

What is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days:

Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over softly her warm ear lays
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmer, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul for grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,

And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And let's his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it received;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,

And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best?
Now is the high tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it.
We are happy now because God so wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well;
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;

The breeze come whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing

That the river is bluer than the sky,

That the robin is plastering his house hard by.

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving;

'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true

As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,

"Tis the natural way of living;

Who knows whither the clouds have fled?
In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes of the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow."

From Lowell's "Vision of Sir Launfal."

If James Russell Lowell had never written another line but the words above, we teachers ought to revere his name. During these last trying days when lesson hours drag wearily along and after-school hours hang

heavy with final reports we are apt to lose that breadth of vision that should sweep beyond all else in dreams for our pupils' futures. Yes, we teachers ought to be if we cannot leave the schoolroom tasks to get the inspiration and that blessed, infinite peace that always comes from "holding communion" in Nature's sacreament, then let us close our eyes and see it in Lowell's word-painting.

Over in England, the other day, a man from the common ranks of life made a speech that may help to insure a settlement of many a nation's difficulties. And that man,-Col. George Harvey,-spoke of another man as his "chief,"-another man from the common ranks of life. Said Col. Harvey:-"President Harding is a typical, modern American. He has breadth of vision, greatness of heart and he is proud of his country. He is a fair just, modest man, humble but unafraid." Oh, teachers, stand up and shout, when the children march in the "Fourth of July" parade, but bow your heads, humbly when you return home. You are helping to make statesmen, too and you can shout and be glad, but, oh, how much more there is yet to be done!

But for now we can rest awhile. And, just to ease the last tense days, let us look at a little caressing poem each night before retiring. I do not know the author's name,-I wish I did so that I might thank him for his excellent sedative. "Sleep sweetly within this peaceful room, Oh thou, whoe'er thou art, And let no mournful yesterdays Disturb thy quiet heart.

Nor let to-morrow fright thy rest
With dreams of coming ill,

Thy Maker is thy changeless friend,-
His love surrounds thee still
Forget thyself and all the world,
Put out each feverish light,-
The stars are watching overhead,
Sleep sweetly, Goodnight, Goodnight!"

DECEMBER