THE SHEPHERD How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! For he hears the lambs' innocent call, THE ECHOING GREEN THE sun does arise, The merry bells ring, To the bells' cheerful sound; While our sports shall be seen On the Echoing Green. Old John, with white hair, Does laugh away care, Till the little ones, weary, LITTLE Lamb, who made thee, Little Lamb, who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; THE LITTLE BLACK BOY My mother bore me in the southern wild, My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, pointing to the East, began to say: 'Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat away, And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 'And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. "For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, Saying, "Come out from the grove, My love and care, And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice.”' Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me, And thus I say to little English boy. When I from black, and he from white cloud free, I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear THE BLOSSOM MERRY, merry Sparrow ! Sees you, swift as arrow, Pretty, pretty Robin! Hears you sobbing, sobbing, Near my Bosom. THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER WHEN My mother died I was very young, There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said, 'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair. And so he was quiet, and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!— That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. And by came an angel, who had a bright key, run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm: So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. THE LITTLE BOY LOST FATHER, father, where are you going? Speak, father, speak to your little boy, The night was dark, no father was there, The mire was deep, and the child did weep, THE LITTLE BOY FOUND THE little boy lost in the lonely fen, He kissed the child, and by the hand led, Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale, LAUGHING SONG WHEN the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, |