If I was in her place I’d try to act fair! And Rose _is_ the tall-est For all, I de-clare!
Take care, lit-tle mas-ter, Or you’ll fall in! That wa-ter is up To your ver-y chin.
Please don’t! please don’t, My mas-ter dear-- O, I wish your moth-er Wouldn’t send you here!
For oh! lit-tle mas-ter, What could I do, If you should fall in, But jump in too?
Nine little birdies rocked by the breeze: First birdie said, “I’m tired of these trees;” Next birdie said, “Where shall we go?” Third birdie said, “Where red cherries grow!” Fourth birdie said, “Are they ripe, do you think?” Fifth birdie laughed with a rogue’s own wink; Sixth birdie said, “I’m sure that they are;” Seventh birdie said, “Is it very far?” Eighth birdie said, “Who’ll leader be?” Ninth birdie said, “I’m off, follow me!” Whew! Whew! And away they all flew Into Mr. John Lee’s Choice cherry trees!
What do you think the ba-by did? Why, Ba-by did as he was bid!
The dar-ling took a pen, and wrote-- A lit-tle in-vi-ta-tion note,
To all the aunts, and grand-mam-ma, To un-cles all, and grand-pa-pa,
To all the ba-by kin ar-ray, To come to din-ner Christ-mas Day.
He wrote it ver-y black and plain, Criss-crossed and marked it all a-gain;
And though he had not had his nap He next was seen in cloak and cap,
And go-ing up the crowd-ed street, Safe in his hand the mis-sive sweet,
To drop it in the box him-self, The aw-ful lit-tle dar-ling elf!
Whith-er a-way, Lit-tle la-dies so gay? “O, o-ver the hill To Grand-moth-er Dill!” And what have you there In your bas-ket square? “O, pud-dings and pies, A lit-tle sur-prise!” Why such good-will To Grand-moth-er Dill? “O, ev-er-y one should On Christ-mas do good!” Lit-tle maids, good day! Flow-ers strew your way!
You poor little birds, It’s happened again-- In the midst of your play Down patters the rain.
You were caught in a shower Just so last week, And I thought that morning I ought to speak;
I hear you all up A-singing at dawn, I know you have tried Each tree on the lawn,
Yet not one of you all Have picked up a straw-- Such improvident birds I ne’er before saw.
But I hope you see now That it would be best To let your play go And build you a nest.
Who can hear the grass talk? Very few, I know; Yet it whispers every day, Sweet and soft and low.