Columbia

 COLUMBIA
BY TIMOTHY DWIGHT
(Written during the author's services as an army chaplain,1777-78.)

Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise.
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies ;
Thy genius commands thee ; with rapture behold,
While ages on ages thy splendor unfold !
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime ;
Let the crimes of the East ne'er encrimson thy name.
Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame.

To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire ;
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire ;
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend ;
A world is thy realm : for a world be thy laws,
Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause;
On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise,
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.

Fair science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east shall with mom hide the beams of her star.
New bards, and new sages, unrivaled shall soar
To fame unextinguished, when time is no more;
To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed,
Shall fly, from all nations the best of mankind ;
Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And genius and beauty in harmony blend ;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ;
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined,
The virtue's bright image, instamped on the mind.
With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow.
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display,
The nations admire and the ocean obey ;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the East and the South yield their spices and gold.
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow,
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow ;
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled,
Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the world.

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars overspread,
From war's dread confusion I pensively strayed.
The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired;
The winds ceased to murmur ; the thunders expired ;
Perfumes as of Eden flowed sweetly along,
And a voice as of angels enchantingly sung:
Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies.''

The Battle of Trenton

 THE BATTLE OF TRENTON
(Dec. 26, 1776.)

On Christmas-day in seventy-six.
Our ragged troops with bayonets fixed.
For Trenton march away.
The Delaware see ! the boats below!
The light obscured by hail and snow!
But no signs of dismay.

Our object was the Hessian band,
That dared invade fair freedom's land,
And quarter in that place.
Great Washington he led us on,
Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun,
Had never known disgrace.

In silent march we passed the night.
Each soldier panting for the fight,
Though quite benumbed with frost.
Greene, on the left, at six began.
The right was led by Sullivan,
Who ne'er a moment lost.

The pickets stormed, the alarm was spread,
The rebels risen from the dead
Were marching into town.
Some scampered here, some scampered there.
And some for action did prepare ;
But soon their arms laid down.

Twelve hundred servile miscreants,
With all their colors, guns, and tents,
Were trophies of the day.
The frolic o'er, the bright canteen
In center, front, and rear was seen
Driving fatigue away.

Now brothers of the patriot bands,
Let's sing deliverance from the hands
Of arbitrary sway.
And as our life is but a span,
Let's touch the tankard while we can.
In memory of that day.

The Battle of Bunker Hill

       The advance of the British army was like a solemn pageant in its steady headway, and like a parade for inspection in the completeness of its outfit. It moved forward as if by the very force of its closely-knit columns it must sweep away every barrier in its path. Elated, sure of victory, with firm step, already quickened as the space of separation lessens, there is left but a few rods of interval, a few steps only, and the work is done! But right in their way was a calm, intense, and energizing love of liberty, represented by men of the same blood and of equal daring.
       A few shots impulsively fired, but quickly restrained, drew an innocent fire from the advancing column. But the pale men behind the scant defense, obedient to one will, answered not. . . . The left wing is near the redoubt It surely is' nothing to surmount a bank of fresh earth but six feet high; and its sands and clods can almost be counted, it is so near, so easy, sure! Short, crisp, and earnest, low-toned, but felt as an electric pulse from redoubt to river, are the words of a single man, Prescott Warren, by his side, repeats them. The word runs quickly along the impatient line. The eager fingers give back from the waiting trigger. Steady, men! Wait until you see the white of the eye! Not a shot sooner! Aim at the handsome coats! Aim at the waistbands! Pick off the officers! Wait for the word, every man! Steady!""
       Already those plain men, so patient, can count the buttons, can read the emblems on the belt-plate, can recognize the officers and men whom they have seen at parade on Boston Common. Features grow more and more distinct. The silence is awful ! These men seem breathless, - dead! It comes, that word, the word waited for - ''Fire!'' That word had waited behind the center and the left wing, where Putnam watched, as it lingered behind breastwork and redoubt. Sharp, clear, and deadly, in tone and essence, it rings forth, "Fire!"
       From redoubt to river, along the whole sweep of devouring flame, the forms of men wither as in a furnace heat. The whole front goes down. For an instant the chirp of the grasshopper and the cricket in the freshly-cut grass might almost be heard; then the groans of the suffering; then the shouts of impatient yeomen, who leap over obstacles to pursue until recalled to silence and to duty.
       Staggering but reviving, grand in the glory of their manhood, heroic in the fortitude which restores self-possession, with a steady step, in the face of fire and over the bodies of their dead, the remnant dare to renew battle. Again the deadly volley; and the shattered columns, in spite of entreaty or command, move back to the place of starting, and the first shock of battle is over.
       A lifetime when it is past seems but as a moment! A moment sometimes is as a lifetime. Onset and repulse! Three hundred lifetimes ended in twenty minutes!

The Lonely Bugle Grieves

THE LONELY BUGLE GRIEVES
BY GRENVILLE MELLEN

The trump hath blown,
And now upon that reeking hill
Slaughter rides screaming on the vengeful ball;
While with terrific signal shrill.
The vultures, from their bloody eyries flown.
Hang o'er them like a pall.
Now deeper roll the maddening drums,
And the mingling host like ocean heaves:
While from the midst a horrid wailing comes.
And high above the fight the lonely bugle grieves!

Ticonderoga

 TICONDEROGA
(May 10, 1775)
BY V. B. WILSON

The cold, gray light of the dawning
On old Carillon falls,
And dim in the mist of the morning
Stand the grim old fortress walls.
No sound disturbs the stillness
Save the cataract's mellow roar.
Silent as death is the fortress.
Silent the misty shore.

But up from the wakening waters
Comes the cool, fresh morning breeze
Lifting the banner of Britain,
And whispering to the trees
Of the swift gliding boats on the waters
That are nearing the fog-shrouded land.
With the old Green Mountain Lion,
And his daring patriot band.

But the sentinel at the postern
Heard not the whisper low;
He is dreaming of the banks of the Shannon
As he walks on his beat to and fro.
Of the starry eyes in Green Erin
That were dim when he marched away.
And a tear down his bronzed cheek courses, 

'Tis the first for many a day.

A sound breaks the misty stillness,
And quickly he glances around ;
Through the mist, forms like towering giants
Seem rising out of the ground ;
A challenge, the firelock flashes,
A sword cleaves the quivering air.
And the sentry lies dead by the postern.
Blood staining his bright yellow hair.

Then, with a shout that awakens
All the echoes of hillside and glen,
Through the low, frowning gate of the fortress,.
Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men.
The scarce wakened troops of the garrison
Yield up their trust pale with fear ;
And down comes the bright British banner.
And out rings a Green Mountain cheer.

Flushed with pride, the whole eastern heavens
With crimson and gold are ablaze ;
And up springs the sun in his splendor
And flings down his arrowy rays, 
Bathing in sunlight the fortress.
Turning to gold the grim walls.
While louder and clearer and higher
Rings the song of the waterfalls.

Since the taking of Ticonderoga
A century has rolled away;
But with pride the nation remembers
That glorious morning in May.
And the cataract's silvery music
Forever the story tells.
Of the capture of old Carillon,
The chime of the silver bells.

A Song for Lexington

A SONG FOR LEXINGTON
BY ROBERT KELLEY WEEKS

The spring came earlier on
Than usual that year;
The shadiest snow was gone.
The slowest brook was clear,
And warming in the sun
Shy flowers began to peer.

Twas more like middle May,
The earth so seemed to thrive,
That Nineteenth April day
Of Seventeen Seventy-Five;
Winter was well away,
New England was alive!

Alive and sternly glad!
Her doubts were with the snow;
Her courage, long forbade.
Ran full to overflow;
And every hope she had
Began to bud and grow.

She rose betimes that morn.
For there was work to do;
A planting, not of com.
Of what she hardly knew,—
Blessings for men unborn ;
And well she did it, too!

With open hand she stood.
And sowed for all the years.
And watered it with blood.
And watered it with tears,
The seed of quickening food
For both the hemispheres.

This was the planting done
That April morn of fame;
Honor to every one
To that seed-field that came!
Honor to Lexington,
Our first immortal name!

Paul Revere's Ride

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE (April 18, 1775)
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night.
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal-light.
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore.
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison-bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears.
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet.
And the measured tread of the grenadiers.
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade, -
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wail,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town.
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill.
Wrapped in silence so deep and still,
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread.
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead ;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side.
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely, and spectral, and somber and still.
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark.
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light.
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge.
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge.
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock.
And the barking of the farmer's dog.
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he rode into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed.
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock.
When he came to the bridge in Concord town,
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees.
And felt the breath of tlie morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled, -
How the farmers gave them ball for ball.
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall.
Chasing the red-coats down the lane.
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road.
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every -Middlesex village and farm, -
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door.
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last.
In the hour of darkness and peril and need.
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed.
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

The Volunteer

The Volunteer
by: Elbridge Jefferson Cutler (1831-1870)

 

"At dawn," he said, "I bid them all farewell,
To go where bugles call and rifles gleam."
And with the restless thought asleep he fell,
And wandered into dream.

 

A great hot plain from sea to mountain spread;
Through it a level river slowly drawn;
He moved with a vast crowd, and at its head‚

Streamed banners like the dawn.

There came a blinding flash, a deafening roar,
And dissonant cries of triumph and dismay;
Blood trickled down the river's reedy shore,
And with the dead he lay.

The morn broke in upon his solemn dream;
And still with steady pulse and deepening eye,
"Where bugles call," he said, "and rifles gleam,
I follow, though I die!"

Concord Hymn

CONCORD HYMN
BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON
(Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837)

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

The Song of The Cannon

The Song of the Cannon
by Sam Walter Foss
 

When the diplomats cease from their capers,
Their red-tape requests and replies,
Their shuttlecock battle of papers,
Their saccharine parley of lies;
When the plenipotentiary wrangle
Is tied in a chaos of knots,
And becomes an unwindable tangle
Of verbals unmarried to thoughts;
When they've anguished and argued profoundly,
Asserted, assumed, and averred,
Then I end up the dialogue roundly
With my monosyllabical word.

Not mine is a speech academic,
No lexicon lingo is mine,
And in politic parley, polemic,
I was never created to shine.
But I speak with some show of decision,
And I never attempt to be bland,
I hurl my one word with precision,
My hearers - they all understand.
It requires no labored translation,
Its pith and its import to glean;
They gather its signification,
They know at the first what I mean.

The codes of the learned legations,
Of form and of rule and decree,
The etiquette books of the nations -
They were never intended for me.
When your case is talked into confusion,
Then hush you, my diplomat friend,
Give me just a word in conclusion,
I'll bring the dispute to an end.
Ye diplomats, cease to aspire
A case that's appealed to debate,
It has gone to a court that is higher,
And I'm the Attorney for Fate.

An Appeal for America

AN APPEAL FOR AMERICA
BY WILLIAM PITT
(Addressed to LORD CHATHAM In Parliament, January 20, I775)

Who said I'm not Patriotic?

'My Lords:
      These papers, brought to your table at so late a period of this business, tell us what? Why, what all
the world knew before: that the Americans, irritated by repeated injuries, and stripped of their inborn rights and dearest privileges, have resisted, and entered into associations for the preservation of their common liberties.
      Had the early situation of the people of Boston been attended to, things would not have come to this. But the infant complaints of Boston were literally treated like the capricious squalls of a child, who, it is said, 'did not know whether it was aggrieved or not.'
      But full well I knew, at that time, that this child, if not redressed, would soon assume the courage and voice of a man. Full well I knew that the sons of ancestors, born under the same free constitution and once breathing the same liberal air as Englishmen, would resist upon the same principles and on the same occasions.
      What has government done? They have sent an armed force consisting of seventeen thousand men, to dragoon the Bostonians into what is called their duty; and, so far from once turning their eyes to the policy and destructive consequence of this scheme, are constantly sending out more troops. And we are told, in the language of menace, that if seventeen thousand men won't do, fifty thousand shall.
      It is true, my lords, with this force they may ravage the country, waste and destroy as they march; but, in the progress of fifteen hundred miles, can they occupy the places they have passed? Will not a country which can produce three millions of people, wronged and insulted as they are, start up like hydras in every comer, and gather fresh strength from fresh opposition?
      Nay, what dependence can you have upon the soldiery, the unhappy engines of your wrath? They are Englishmen, who must feel for the privileges of Englishmen. Do you think that these men can turn their arms against their brethren? Surely no. A victory must be to them a defeat, and carnage a sacrifice.
      But it is not merely three millions of people, the produce of America, we have to contend with in this unnatural struggle ; many more are on their side, dispersed over the face of this wide empire. Every Whig in this country and in Ireland is with them.
      In this alarming crisis I come with this paper in my hand to offer you the best of my experience and advice; which is, that a humble petition be presented to his Majesty, beseeching him that, in order to open the way toward a happy settlement of the dangerous troubles in America, it may graciously please him that immediate orders be given to General Gage for removing his Majesty's force from the town of Boston.
      Such conduct will convince America that you mean to try her cause in the spirit of freedom and inquiry, and not in letters of blood.
      There is no time to be lost. Every hour is big with danger. Perhaps, while I am now speaking, the decisive blow is struck which may involve millions in the consequence. And, believe me, the very first drop of blood which is shed will cause a wound which may never be healed.
      When your lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from America, when you consider their firmness, decency, and wisdom, you cannot but respect their cause and wish to make it your own. For myself, I must affirm, declare, and avow that, in all my reading and observation (and it has been my favorite study, for I have read Thucydides, and have studied and admired the master-states of the world), I say, I must declare that, for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication of difficult circumstances, no nation or body of men can stand in preference to the General Congress at Philadelphia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships that all attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism, over such a mighty continental nation, must be vain, must be fatal.
       We shall be forced, ultimately, to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when, we must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent, oppressive acts. They Must be repealed. You Will repeal them. I pledge myself for it that you will, in the end, repeal them, I stake my reputation on it. I will consent to be taken for an idiot if they are not finally repealed.

The Revolutionary Alarm

Liberty Forever

        Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but it was no not for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the war-message from  hand to hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the backwoods; the plains to the highlands; and it was never suffered to droop till it had been borne North and South, and East and West, throughout the land.
       It spread over the bays that receive the Saco and the Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trappers of New Hampshire, and, ringing like bugle-notes from peak to peak, overleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward to Montreal, and descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the cliffs of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to one another the tale.
       As the summons hurried to the south, it was one day at New York; in one more at Philadelphia; the next it lighted a watchfire at Baltimore; thence it waked an answer at Annapolis. Crossing the Potomac near Mount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to Williamsburg. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nansemond, along the route of the first emigrants to North Carolina. It moved onwards and still onwards, through boundless groves of evergreen, to New-Beme and to Wilmington.
       For God's sake, forward it by night and by day,'' wrote Cornelius Harnett, by the express which sped for Brunswick. Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones at the border and despatched it to Charleston,
and through pines and palmettos and moss-clad live-oaks, farther to the south, till it resounded among the New England settlements beyond Savannah.
       The Blue Ridge took up the voice, and made it heard from one end to the other of the valley of Virginia. The Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers, that the loud call  might pass through  to the hardy riflemen on the Holston, the Watauga, and the French Broad. Ever renewing its strength, powerful enough even to create a commonwealth, it breathed its inspiring word to the first settlers of Kentucky; so that hunters who made their halt in the matchless valley of the Elkhom commemorated the 19th day of April, 1775, by naming their encampment Lexington.
       With one impulse the colonies sprung to arms; with one spirit they pledged themselves to each other - to be ready for the extreme event. With one heart the continent cried, Liberty or Death! by George Bancroft

The Principles of The Revolution

Three cheers for the red, white and blue!

       When we speak of the glory of our fathers, we mean not that vulgar renown to be attained by physical strength; nor yet that higher fame, to be acquired by intellectual power. Both often exist without lofty thought, pure intent, or generous purpose. The glory which we celebrate was strictly of a moral and religious character; righteous as to its ends; just as to its means.
       The American Revolution had its origin neither in ambition, nor avarice, nor envy, nor in any gross passion; but in the nature and relation of things, and in the thence-resulting necessity of separation from the parent state. Its progress was limited by that necessity. Our fathers displayed great strength and great moderation of purpose. In difficult times they conducted it with wisdom; in doubtful times, with firmness; in perilous times, with courage; under oppressive trials, erect; amidst temptations, unseduced; in the dark hour of danger, fearless; in the bright hour of prosperity, faithful.
       It was not the instant feeling and pressure of despotism that roused them to resist, but the principle on which that arm was extended. They could have paid the impositions of the British government, had they been increased a thousandfold; but payment acknowledged right, and they spurned the consequences of that acknowledgment. But, above all, they realized that those burdens, though light in themselves, would to coming ages - to us, their posterity - be heavy, and probably insupportable. They preferred to meet the trial in their own times, and to make the sacrifices in their own persons, that we and our descendants, their posterity, might reap the harvest and enjoy the increase.
       Generous men, exalted patriots, immortal statesmen! For this deep moral and social affection, for this elevated self-devotion, this bold daring, the multiplying millions of your posterity, as they spread backward to the lakes, and from the lakes to the mountains, and from the mountains to the western waters, shall annually, in all future time, come up to the temples of the Most High, with song and anthem, and thanksgiving; with cheerful symphonies and hallelujahs, to repeat your names; to look steadfastly on the brightness of your glory; to trace its spreading rays to the points from which they emanate; and to seek in your character and conduct a practical illustration of public duty in every occurring social exigency. by Josiah Quincy

Kitten's Night Thoughts

 Kitten's Night Thoughts
Oliver Hereford

When Human Folk put out the light
And think they've made it dark as night,
A Pussy Cat sees every bit
As well as when the lights are lit.

When Human Folk have gone upstairs
And shed their skins and said their prayers,
And there is no one to annoy,
Then Pussy may her life enjoy.

No human hands to pinch or slap,
Or rub her fur against the nap,
Or throw cold water from a pail,
Or make a handle of her tail.

And so you will not think it wrong,
When she can play the whole night long,
With no one to disturb her play,
That Pussy goes to bed by day.  

Politely

Politely
Diane Willson

When Goldilocks went calling
On the Little Baby Bear
And spoiled his bowl of porridge
And sat holes into his chair-
I hope she hurried home again
For others nice and new
And took them back politely
To the Baby Bear. Don't you?
 

The Sweetstuff Wife

The Sweetstuff Wife
Eleanor Farjeon

The Sweetstuff Wife in the queer little shop
Has four little windowpanes
With bottles of bulls-eye and lollipop,
Peardrop, lemon drop, chocolate drop,
Boxes of small tin trains,
Comfits of every color too,
With mottos on them, like "I Love You"
And "Do You Love Me?" "Be Kind," "Be
True,
And horses with fluffy manes,
And sawdust dollies with china heads,
And painted tea-sets, and tiny beds,
And balls with quarters of blues and reds,
And butterfly aeroplanes,
And sugar biscuits, and sweet cigars,
And ninepins, and wind-up motor-cars,
And masks and crackers and silver stars
And paper flowers and chains. 

Chickadee

 Chickadee
Hilda Conkling
(Written at the age of six)

The chickadee in the apple tree
Talks all the time very gently.
He makes me sleepy.
I rock away to the sea-lights.
Far off I hear him talking
The way smooth bright pebbles
Drop into water . . .
Chicka'dee-dee-dee . . .

"Down in the Hollow" and Ladybug Hand Craft

Ladybugs shaped using either handprints or hand tracing. Cut out the hands,
 add black spots, antenna, eyeballs and heads.

  

 Down in the Hollow
Aileen Fisher

Down in the hollow,
Not so far away,
I saw a little ladybug
When I went to play,

Swinging on the clover
Up in the air . . .
I wonder if the ladybug
Knew I was there.

Two of Each Were All Aboard Noah's Ark!

Circus

Circus
Eleanor Farjeon

The brass band blares,
The naphtha flares,
The sawdust smells,
Showmen ring bells,
And oh! right into the circus-ring
Comes such a lovely, lovely thing,
A milk-white pony with flying tress,
And a beautiful lady,
A beautiful lady,
A beautiful lady in a pink dress!
The red-and-white clown
For joy tumbles down.
Like a pink rose
Round she goes
On her tiptoes
With the pony under-
And then, oh, wonder!
The pony his milk-white tresses droops,
And the beautiful lady,
The beautiful lady,
Flies like a bird through the paper hoops!
The red-and-white clown for joy falls dead,
Then he waggles his feet and stands on his
head,
And the little boys on the twopenny seats
Scream with laughter and suck their sweets.

The Cricket

The Cricket
Marjorie Barrows

And when the rain had gone away
And it was shining everywhere,
I ran out on the walk to play
And found a little bug was there.

And he was running just as fast
As any little bug could run,
Until he stopped for breath at last,
All black and shiny in the sun.

And then he chirped a song to me
And gave his wings a little tug,
And that's the way he showed that he
Was very glad to be a bug!

Song for a Little House

Song for a Little House
Christopher Morley

I'm glad our house is a little house,
Not too tall nor too wide:
I'm glad the hovering butterflies
Feel free to come inside.

Our little house is a friendly house,
It is not shy or vain;
It gossips with the talking trees
And makes friends with the rain.

And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green
Against our whited walls,
And in the phlox, the courteous bees
Are paying duty calls.

The Secret Cavern

 The Secret Cavern
Margaret Widdemer

Underneath the boardwalk, way, way back,
There's a splendid cavern, big and black-
If you want to get there, you must crawl
Underneath the posts and steps and all
When I've finished paddling, there I go-
None of all the other children know!

There I keep my treasures in a box-
Shells and colored glass and queer 'shaped rocks,
In a secret hiding-place I've made,
Hollowed out with clam shells and a spade,
Marked with yellow pebbles in a row-
None of all the other children know!

It's a place that makes a splendid lair,
Room for chests and weapons and one chair.
In the farthest corner, by the stones,
I shall have a flag with skulls and bones
And a lamp that casts a lurid glow-
None of all the other children know!

Some time, by and by, when I am grown,
I shall go and live there all alone;
I shall dig and paddle till it's dark,
Then go out and man my pirate bark:
I shall fill my cave with captive foe-
None of all the other children know!

The Little Rose Tree

The Little Rose Tree
Rachel Field

Every rose on the little tree
Is making a different face at me!
Some look surprised when I pass by,
And others droop - but they are shy.
These two whose heads together press
Tell secrets I could never guess.
Some have their heads thrown back to sing,
And all the buds are listening.
I wonder if the gardener knows,
Or if he calls each just a rose?

The Family Dragon

 The Family Dragon
(With acknowledgments to Kenneth Grahame)
Margaret Widdemer

Last night there walked across our lawn a
beast we didn't know-
We saw his little footprints marked quite
plainly in the snow.
It might have been an ocelot, or perhaps a
grizzly bear-
We hoped it was a dragon, come out walk-
ing from its lair;
We didn't want a grown-up one, all fire and
scales and foam,
But just a baby dragonlet that we could carry
home;
We'd keep him in the nursery and give him
a nice name,
And have him for a fam'ly pet, with ribbons
on, quite tame.
We tracked him down the meadow path
and all along the hedge
And there his little footprints stopped close
up beneath the edge,
For there the snow had gone away - there
wasn't any track-
And it was tea-time anyway, so both of us
went back.
But we shall go some day quite soon and find
him in his lair,
And capture him while he's asleep, and tie
him up with care,
And we will have the 'spressman come and
put him in his wagon
And bring him home to stay with us and be
our family dragon!

Sea Shell

 Sea Shell
Amy Lowell

Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O please!
A song of ships, and sailor men,
And parrots, and tropical trees,
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main
Which no man ever may find again,
Of fishes and corals under the waves,
And sea'horses stabled in great green caves.
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing of the things you know so well.

Where Go the Boats?

Where Go the Boats?
Robert Louis Stevenson

Dark brown is the river.
Golden is the sand,
It flows along forever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a'floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a'boating-
Where will all come home?

On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
 
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore. 

Serious Omission

 Serious Omission
John Farrar

I know that there are dragons,
St. George's, Jason's, too,
And many modern dragons
With scales of green and blue;

But though I've been there many times
And carefully looked through,
I cant find a dragon
In the cages at the zoo!

Farewell to the Farm

Farewell to the Farm
Robert Louis Stevenson

The coach is at the door at last;
The eager children, mounting fast
And kissing hands, in chorus sing:
"Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

"To house and garden, field and lawn,
The meadow-gates we swang upon,
To pump and stable, tree and swing,
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!

"And fare you well for evermore,
O ladder at the hayloft door,
O hayloft where the cobwebs cling,
Good'bye, good-bye, to everything!"

Crack goes the whip, and off we go;
The trees and houses smaller grow;
Last, round the woody turn we swing;
"Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!"

Bread Making

 Bread Making
E. L. M. King

Mother's kneading, kneading dough,
In and out her knuckles go;
Till the sticky, shapeless lump
Grows a pillow, smooth and plump.

Then she cuts it, pops it in
To the neatly buttered tin,
Leaves it rising high and higher,
While she goes to make the fire.

How the glad flames leap and roar,
Through the open oven-door;
Till their hot breath, as they play,
Makes us wink and run away.

When they've burnt to embers red
Mother shovels in the bread;
And that warm, delicious smell
Tells her it is baking well.

When it's golden, just like wheat,
We shall get a crust to eat;
How I wish we could be fed
Every day on new-made bread!

The General Store

 

General Store
Rachel Field

Some day I'm going to have a store
With a tinkly bell hung over the door,
With real glass cases and counters wide
And drawers all spilly with things inside.
There'll be a little of everything:
Bolts of calico; balls of string;
Jars of peppermint; tins of tea;
Pots and kettles and crockery;
Seeds in packets; scissors bright;
Kegs of sugar, brown and white;
Sarsaparilla for picnic lunches,
Bananas and rubber boots in bunches.
I'll fix the window and dust each shelf,
And take the money in all myself.
It will be my store and I will say:
"What can I do for you today?"

Little

 Little
Dorothy Aldis

I am the sister of him
And he is my brother.
He is too little for us
To talk to each other.

So every morning I show him
My doll and my book;
But every morning he still is
Too little to look.

The Circus

The Circus
Elizabeth Madox Roberts

Friday came and the circus was there,
And Mother said that the twins and I
And Charles and Clarence and all of us
Could go out and see the parade go by.

And there were wagons with pictures on,
And you never could guess what they had inside,
Nobody could guess, for the doors were shut,
And there was a dog that a monkey could ride.

A man on the top of a sort of cart
Was clapping his hands and making a talk.
And the elephant came- he can step pretty far-
It made us laugh to see him walk.

Three beautiful ladies came riding by,
And each one had on a golden dress,
And each one had a golden whip.
They were queens of Sheba, I guess.

A big wild man was in a cage,
And he had some snakes going over his feet.
And somebody said, "He eats them alive!"
But I didn't see him eat.

Doorbells

Doorbells
Rachel Field

You never know with a doorbell
Who may be ringing it-
It may be Great-Aunt Cynthia
To spend the day and knit;
It may be a peddler with things to sell
(I'll buy some when I'm older),
Or the grocer's boy with his apron on
And a basket on his shoulder;
It may be the old umbrella-man
Giving his queer, cracked call,
Or a lady dressed in rustly silk,
With card-case and parasol.
Doorbells are like a magic game,
Or the grab-bag at a fair-
You never know when you hear one ring
Who may be waiting there!

The Animal Store

The Animal Store
Rachel Field

If I had a hundred dollars to spend,
Or maybe a little more,
I'd hurry as fast as my legs would go
Straight to the animal store.

I wouldn't say, "How much for this or
that?"
"What kind of a dog is he?"
I'd buy as many as rolled an eye,
Or wagged a tail at me!

I'd take the hound with the drooping ears
That sits by himself alone;
Cockers and Cairns and wobbly pups
For to be my very own.

I might buy a parrot all red and green,
And the monkey I saw before,
If I had a hundred dollars to spend,
Or maybe a little more.

The Horse

The Horse
James Stephens

A sparrow hopped about the street,
And he was not a bit afraid;
He flew between a horse's feet,
And ate his supper undismayed:
I think myself the horse knew well
The bird came for the grains that fell.
 
For his eye was looking down,
And he danced the corn about
In his nosebag, till the brown
Grains of corn were tumbled out;
And I fancy that he said,
"Eat it up, young Speckle-Head!"

The driver then came back again,
He climbed into the heavy dray;
And he tightened up the rein,
Cracked his whip and drove away.
But when the horse's ribs were hit,
The sparrow did not care a bit.

Little Tiger Cat

 

Little Tiger Cat
Annette Wynne

Little Tiger Cat with the spotted face,
Do you think you've found a baby-jungle-
place?
Going through the grass, stealthily and slow,
Are you waiting to jump out and scare the
folks you know?
And send them running to the house as fast
as they can go?

Little Tiger Cat, it's no use at all,
No matter what you think yourself, you're
rather tame and small,
And with all your hiding and your stern con-
templation,
You cannot scare a single one of high or
lowly station,
And so, there's no use trying to be like your
wild relation.

The Duck

 The Duck by E. L. M. King

If I were in a fairy tale,
And it were my good luck
To have a wish, I'd choose to be
A lovely snow-white duck.

When she puts off into the pond
And leaves me on the brink,
She wags her stumpy tail at me,
And gives a saucy wink,

Which says as plain as words could say,
Fm safe as safe can be,
Stay there, or you will drown yourself.
The pond was made for me.

She goes assailing to and fro,
Just like a fishing boat,
And steers and paddles all herself,
And never wets her coat.

Then in the water, upside down,
I've often seen her stand
More neatly than the little boys
Who do it on the land.

And best of all, her children are
The ducklings, bright as gold,
Who swim about the pond with her
And do as they are told.

Hiding

Hiding
Dorothy Aldis

I"m hiding, I'm hiding,
And no one knows where;
For all they can see is my
Toes and my hair.

And I just heard my father
Say to my mother-
"But, darling, he must be
Somewhere or other;

"Have you looked in the ink well?"
And Mother said, "Where?"
"In the INK WELL," said Father. But
I was not there.

Then, "Wait!" cried my mother-
"I think that I see
Him under the carpet." But
It was not me.

"Inside the mirror's
A pretty good place,"
Said Father and looked, but saw
Only his face.

"We've hunted," sighed Mother,
"As hard as we could
And I AM so afraid that we've
Lost him for good."

Then I laughed out aloud
And I wiggled my toes
And Father said- "Look, dear,
I wonder if those

Toes could be Benny's.
There are ten of them. See?"
And they WERE so surprised to find
Out it was me!

Roads

 Roads
Rachel Field

A road might lead to anywhere-
To harbor towns and quays,
Or to a witch's pointed house
Hidden by bristly trees.
It might lead past the tailor's door,
Where he sews with needle and thread,
Or by Miss Pim the milliner's,
With her hats for every head.
It might be a road to a great, dark cave
With treasure and gold piled high,
Or a road with a mountain tied to its end,
Blue-humped against the sky.
Oh, a road might lead you anywhere-
To Mexico or Maine.
But then, it might just fool you, and-
Lead you back home again!

Barefoot Days

 Barefoot Days
Rachel Field

In the morning, very early,
That's the time I love to go
Barefoot where the fern grows curly
And grass is cool between each toe,
On a summer morning-O!
On a summer morning!

That is when the birds go by
Up the sunny slopes of air,
And each rose has a butterfly
Or a golden bee to wear;
And I am glad in every toe-
Such a summer morning' O!
Such a summer morning!

Cobwebs

Cobwebs
E. L. M. King

Between me and the rising sun,
This way and that the cobwebs run;
Their myriad wavering lines of light
Dance up the hill and out of sight.

There is no land possesses half
So many lines of telegraph
As those the spider-elves have spun
Between me and the rising sun. 

The Day Before April

The Day before April
Mary Carolyn Davies

The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And sat on a stone.

I sat on a broad stone
And sang to the birds.
The tune was God's making
But I made the words.

The Juggler

 THE JUGGLER

There was a squirrel once-
An idle rogue was he,
He had no store of winter nuts
Beneath his greenwood tree.

So when the leaves began to fall
And food was getting dear -
"I must do something soon," said he,
"Or I shall starve, 'tis clear."

And so he hung this notice out -
"The Juggler is at home
Most afternoons, at half-past
four,
Bring lots of nuts and
come."

They came, his friends both great
and small,
And brought the nuts beside,
And Whiskers promptly juggled
them,
Into his own inside.

And so the whole long winter
time
In comfort he did feed.
But you had best not copy
him
In case you don't succeed

The Queen's Hearts

The Queen's Hearts silhouette in black and white.

The Queen's Hearts

 

That same Queen of Hearts, who baked all those tarts
That we've heard of in story and fable
Sent word once a year, that both peasant and peer
Should collect all the hearts they were able
And some hearts were great, and some hearts were small
And some had hardly a heart at all.

The Queen's Hearts silhouette in red and white.

Willie Wolf

Willie Wolf
by Helen Cowles LeCron

Willie Wolf will gulp
his food,
Though his mother calls him
rude,
Though his brother hides his
eyes,
And his sister almost cries.
('Course she knows that cry-
ing's silly,
But she's so ashamed of
Willie!)
Oh, the dreadful bites he
takes
When he's eating pies and
cakes!
I should hate to have to see
him,
But I'd hate far worse to be
him!

Find the fox puzzle...

Find the fox before he eats the gingerbread boy.

The Gingerbread Boy
Puzzle-Find The Fox
by Helen Hudson

The little old woman, and little old man
Follow Gingerbread Boy as fast as they can,
But he quickly eludes them as onward he hurries;
And cat, dog and pig and a hen hen then worries.

But alas, for our boastful and bold little friend!
With wiley old fox he soon meets his end!
If with your sharp eyes you search over this sheet
Old Reynard himself you will very soon meet.

The Hurricane Puppy

 

Peterkin Puppy
by Helen Cowles LeCron

Peterkin Puppy just lived in a
hurry!
Petterkin Puppy could never sit still!
He'd rush through the house in a terrible
flurry,
And, oh, all the dishes he'd break and
he'd spill!

He'd race by the vases and set them to
rocking,-
He'd rush through the kitchen and
tumble upstairs,-
He'd brush past the table (oh, wasn't it
shocking?)
And scatter the books and tip over the
chairs!

"Hurricane Peter," the neighbors all
called him,
"hurricane Peter," he's called to this
day!
Shouldn't you think that the name would
have tamed him?
Puppies should always take care when
they play!

Little Charlie Chipmunk

 Little Charlie Chipmunk
by Helen Cowles LeCron

Little Charlie Chipmunk
was a talker. Mercy me!

He chattered after breakfast and
he chattered after tea!

He chattered to his father and he
chattered to his mother!

He chattered to his sister and he
chattered to his brother!

He chattered till his family was
almost driven wild!

Oh, little Charley Chipmunk was
a very tiresome child!

Heidi's Puzzle

Find the Goat Peter hidden in the mountain pasture.

 

Find the Goat Peter Puzzle
by Helen Hudson

Happy little Heidi
With her flowers fair
Revels in her freedom
And sweet mountain air.

Faithful goat-heard Peter
Now is watching near;
If you search this picture
You will see him - here.

More About Heidi:

• Heidi from "When I Read, I Dream" series
• Swiss Paper Dolls: Heidi and Peter

3 Good Cheers for December!

 

3 Good Cheers!

Three good cheers for old December!
Month of Christmas trees and toys,
Hanging up a million stockings,
For a million girls and boys,
O, dear December, hurry on.
Oh! please---oh, please come quick;
Bring snow so white.
Bring fires so bright,
And bring us good Saint Nick.

Draw Santa Step-by-Step

       Progressive drawings are for beginners. Exercises like these teach more than fun! Young students learn that shapes make up larger drawings or can be found inside of larger drawings. They also learn to take directions, to watch and be patient and to solve problems through a series of smaller steps.

Santa Claus is so round and jolly. Make him a part of a larger drawing so that students may expand their thinking. Encourage them to add more details to their drawings and to color in the spaces as they like!

More Santa Claus Themed Crafts:

• Color a nostalgic portrait of Santa Claus for a Christmas Calendar
• "Santa Claus is coming to town" coloring page 
• Read aloud "Long Ago Christmas" from O'Brien's Pioneer Memories
  

Cut a Christmas Tree Border or Chain

       Download and print out the pattern below. The dotted lines indicate where the image will be folded to continue the tree silhouette seamlessly after it is unfolded. The number of images "linked" together in one continuous chain is determined by the length of the paper being cut. Use a very thin paper to make your cutting easier. Cut away the areas indicated by the design. (see image above and read text on the pattern below. This paper-cut may be used as a border around a Christmas bulletin board in a classroom or as a paper chain for the Christmas tree if you like.

Christmas Tree Chain Pattern

More Christmas Tree Themed Crafts:

• Kids can cut and paste a heart-shaped Christmas Tree
• Make a Popsicle stick Christmas tree ornament 
• Color a Christmas tree for your dolls and paste on the toys for decoration
  

Draw Christmas things using a grid...

        The following illustrated Christmas toys may be duplicated larger, smaller, or the same size by the use of a grid drawing system. Read about Enlarging and Reducing Pictures Here. After learning this method you can use these pictures as patterns for ornaments, artwork or for making a picture with them. Illustrations include: a rocking horse, drum, ball, football, wheelbarrow, Noah's ark, wooden tree, sail boat, candy cone, trumpet, sled, book and lamb on wheels.

• "Mad Cat" Bench for Children uses a grid system to transfer a pattern.
• Swinging Arm Dolls, a Lighthouse stool, a bucking bronco rocker, and a pig shaped stepping-stool all use this grid system for transferring patterns.
• 10 Free Woodcut Patterns for Tree Ornaments uses a grid system for transferring images.

Teaching students to transfer images by drafting a grid and making comparisons
reinforces many math and artistic skills.

Craft Santa's Workshop Game

        Here is a game that you can make and play with your friends. All the materials needed are easy to collect around the house. This is a kind of fishing game and is fun to play on winter evenings.

Directions: 

1. First get a cardboard box about 10x12 inches in size or larger.
2. Turn it upside down and cut 12 little slits in it with a knife. Space out the cuts evenly.
3. Next fasten the paper edge around the top. Cutting it to look like the village roof tops shown in the picture above.
4. You can cover this silhouette using construction paper.
5. Cut out the toys with numbered tags after coloring these. Slip the number side of each toy through the slits in the cardboard box half way leaving the tops sticking out.
6. Attach a paper clip to the tops of each toy.
7. Make the fishing poles using wooden sticks or dowels with string tied to one end only. Attaching a hook or magnet.
8. Additional toys may be made by cutting images from catalogs or Christmas advertisements in the mail.

To Play The Game:

• Each player has to take turns fishing for a toy by either hooking it through the paper clip or by using a magnet to lift the toys from the box slits.
• For every toy retrieved from "Santa's village workshop" that player gets one point.
• If two toys with the same number are pulled up then that player receives two extra points instead of only one.
• The player having the most points after fishing for all the paper toys wins the game.

More Christmas Games to Play:

• Guess the Gifts Puzzle and Fill In The Blanks
• A Puzzling Chimney
• Play Santa's Fortune Teller Puzzle 

Color a Christmas Poem Book

        Trim the Christmas tree below with the illustrated ornaments below after coloring and cutting them out. Use the printable cover for Christmas poems to decorate the front of your book. We have many Christmas poems for students to include inside their book of poetry at our Belsnickle Blog and also our Doll Blog Here.

Students can color the tree green before pasting ornaments on top.

Color, cut and paste these Christmas ornaments on to the pine tree above,
turning it into a Christmas tree! There are so many ornament types here:
angels, bells, birds, stars, candy canes, drums, horns, houses, soldiers and 
snowmen!

Snow Baby Gift Tags

        Below are "snow babies" for students to color as they wish, cut out and paste to their packages this Christmas. Snow babies have a long history in our country. 

• Read more about where they come from and what they are here. 
• See how to craft a traditional snow baby for the Christmas tree on this post.
  

Six snow babies per printable for Christmas gift tags.

Star Templates for Your Classroom

        "Stars, either cut from cardboard and covered with gold or silver paper, or cut from construction paper, and attached to black thread, may be hung in the windows, used on the Christmas tree, or suspended over the sand table showing a Christmas scene."

• Older students can learn to wrap flat Japanese temari for the Christmas tree.
• Read about Froebel Stars and watch a video by Jo Nakashima
• I discovered Scandinavian Star Curl Ornaments at an estate sale...

Star templates in five sizes for the classroom.

On Christmas Day by Dickens

 

On Christmas Day
by Charles Dickens

       Welcome, everything! Welcome, alike what has been, and what never was, and what we hope may be, to your shelter underneath the holly, to your places around the Christmas fire, where what is sits openhearted. In yonder shadow, do we see obtruding furtively upon the blaze an enemy's face? By Christmas Day we do forgive him! If the injury he has done us may admit of such companionship, let him come here and take his place. If otherwise, unhappily, let him go hence, assured that we will never injure nor accuse him!
       On this day, we shut out Nothing! Charles Dickens quote.