Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
BOSTON D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 32 FRANKLIN STREET
Sing a song, a brand new song: “Sing a song of six-pence, A pock-et full of rye.” John and Jim-my both picked some, So they could have a pie.
And when they’d filled their pock-ets full, Down in the field of rye, They found some cun-ning lit-tle birds, To put in-to the pie. Six pret-ty lit-tle hid-den nests, Down in the yel-low rye, Held four-and-twen-ty ba-by birds, E-nough to fill the pie.
They set them all with-in the dish, Lined with a crust of rye; But soon the four-and-twen-ty birds Cried out in-side the pie.
And John took up the pie, And back the lit-tle lad-dies went In-to the field of rye.
The moth-er bird flew up and shrieked, “O, have you baked that pie? How can you bring the cru-el dish, And eat it in the rye!” John--
And soon they ate the pie; The birds flew out and found their nests Down in the yel-low rye.
Seven happy little chicks walked out one day in June, Thought they would enjoy the way by starting up a tune; Seven ugly little ducks, whose names I will not mention, Made up their minds to follow them, and spoil their good intention; Now everybody knows that a duckling’s voice is deep, And everybody knows that _quack_ will make more noise than _peep_.
So when they found their music drowned, these plucky little chicks Made up _their_ minds to cure these ducks of all such naughty tricks; So they chased them from the barn-yard, on this pleasant day in June, Then started on their walk again, and went on with their tune. --_J. S._
Clover, clover in the field, Why do you hang your head? Have you done anything unkind? Or any cross word said?
O no, my little maiden, no! I only droop with dew; And from my lips sweet honey drips; Come, I will share with you. --_C. C. B._
Down in the valley, deep, deep, deep, Where little sunbeams wink and peep, Under the grasses hiding low-- There’s where the dear little violets grow.
Out in the meadow, bright, bright, bright, Close by the clovers red and white-- With heart of gold and a fringe of snow, There’s where the dear little daisies grow.