Volume I Part 26 (1/2)

Isaac Watts [1674-1748]

THE VIOLET

Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused a sweet perfume, Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see; That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.

Jane Taylor [1783-1824]

DIRTY JIM

There was one little Jim, 'Tis reported of him, And must be to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen With hands at all clean, Nor yet ever clean was his face.

His friends were much hurt To see so much dirt, And often they made him quite clean; But all was in vain, He got dirty again, And not at all fit to be seen.

It gave him no pain To hear them complain, Nor his own dirty clothes to survey; His indolent mind No pleasure could find In tidy and wholesome array.

The idle and bad, Like this little lad, May love dirty ways, to be sure; But good boys are seen, To be decent and clean, Although they are ever so poor.

Jane Taylor [1783-1824]

THE PIN

”Dear me! what signifies a pin, Wedged in a rotten board?

I'm certain that I won't begin, At ten years old, to h.o.a.rd; I never will be called a miser, That I'm determined,” said Eliza.

So onward tripped the little maid, And left the pin behind, Which very snug and quiet lay, To its hard fate resigned; Nor did she think (a careless chit) 'Twas worth her while to stoop for it.

Next day a party was to ride, To see an air balloon; And all the company beside Were dressed and ready soon; But she a woeful case was in, For want of just a single pin.

In vain her eager eyes she brings, To every darksome crack; There was not one, and yet her things Were dropping off her back.

She cut her pincus.h.i.+on in two, But no, not one had fallen through.

At last, as hunting on the floor, Over a crack she lay, The carriage rattled to the door, Then rattled fast away; But poor Eliza was not in, For want of just--a single pin!

There's hardly anything so small, So trifling or so mean, That we may never want at all, For service unforeseen; And wilful waste, depend upon't, Brings, almost always, woeful want!

Ann Taylor [1782-1866]

JANE AND ELIZA