Part 15 (1/2)

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Look what a nice, new coat is mine; Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Pa.s.sing at home a patient life, Broods in the gra.s.s while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Brood, kind creature, you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note; Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.

Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about.

Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the sh.e.l.l, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care, Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, n.o.body knows but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie, Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows, Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum drone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

Chee, chee, chee.

_William Cullen Bryant._

A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF G.o.d

They say that G.o.d lives very high; But if you look above the pines You cannot see our G.o.d; and why?

And if you dig down in the mines, You never see Him in the gold, Though from Him all that's glory s.h.i.+nes.

G.o.d is so good, He wears a fold Of heaven and earth across His face, Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place;

As if my tender mother laid On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, Half waking me at night, and said, ”Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?”

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

”BOB WHITE”

I see you, on the zigzag rails, You cheery little fellow!

While purple leaves are whirling down, And scarlet, brown, and yellow.

I hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, ”Bob White! Bob White!” you whistle.

Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, Are nodding there to greet you; I know that you are out for play-- How I should like to meet you!

Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, In this delightful weather; What splendid playmates you and I, ”Bob White,” would make together!

There, you are gone! but far away I hear your whistle falling.

Ah! may be it is hide-and-seek, And that's why you are calling.