I

Take a bit of woolly stuff, Kiss it till it's warm enough, Roll it up with play and fun, That's a lamb—a little one!

He peeped up through the winter snow, His little hands together—so, I almost think I heard his prayer; He did not know that I was there.

The little bulb house is a house of brown, Its doors are locked and its blinds are down Winds may whistle and winds may creep, The little brown house is a house of sleep.

But when the sun gives a golden knock The blinds go up and the doors unlock. The sleepy tenant will softly stir, And throw off the garment that covers her.

And she will put on her dress with care, A Hyacinth lady, tall and fair. All this magic in scent and blue You may buy in the shop for a copper or two!

God keeps His pictures in the big Outside, And some are narrow ones and some are wide.

I like His picture of the field the best, With grass, and sky that meets it, and the rest

Of very lovely things I cannot name— The hawthorn hedge around it is the frame.

Of all the colours God has made I love the pretty yellow shade— The colour of canaries' wings, Of baby ducks, and fluffy things; I think He must have spilt the sun Upon the darlings, every one!

A little Grey Girl in a little Grey Cloak Came over the hill by the lane— She carried a bundle which suddenly broke. "Oh, dear," cried the Girl in the little Grey Cloak, "I am losing my beautiful rain!"

There are rich little boys in the big, wide world, And rich little girls, I'm told. But the poorest child is the richest child If he gathers Buttercup gold.

God puts it out in the grassy fields For anyone passing there. Come, gather the Buttercup gold with me, There's more than enough to spare!

Have you seen the gold in the Green Bank of England? Wonderful, beautiful, lovely to behold— Aconite and coltsfoot, buttercup and daffodil, Crocus and celandine, and dandelion bold!

Have you found the gold in the Green Bank of England? You may go and take it—none of it is sold. Gorse, broom, and ragwort, bedstraw and cowslip, Kingcup and pansy, and silver-weed gold.

Yours is the gold in the Green Bank of England, Yours for the asking—treasury untold; Potentilla, primrose, yellow vetch, and trefoil, Pimpernel and hawkweed, and pussy-willow gold.

Morning came to Baby, her feet all wet with dew, Her hair was yellow sunshine, her eyes were skyey blue, And she said, "Wake up, my darling, I have brought a day for you."

Some red, red earth and a hawthorn hedge, And a dear little round front door; A nibble, nibble, along the edge, And one little nibble more.

A whispering rustle in yellow wheat, The clink of a milking-pail, And a sudden scamper of furry feet, And the bob of a little white tail.

Froggie hopped the other day Very, very high; Mrs Frog said, "Well, I never, Didn't know you were so clever, Tell the reason why!"

Froggie gave another hop, Winked his little eye— "As the year is Leap Year, Mother, I can really do no other— That's the reason why!"

There was a little seaside breeze who loved to dance and play; He'd rush along the yellow sands and fly across the bay; And when the frothy billows began to sway and roll, He'd find the highest seaweed rock and rest his little soul.

But other breezes came along, ten thousand and a score; They pushed and jostled all the day upon the sea and shore; And little breeze got weary of rough and noisy play, Said he, "I'll find another home—it's time I went away."

He spread his wings of silver light and flew across the foam, And in a wood of scented pines he found his little home. So, if you stop and listen, you'll hear the little breeze As he sings his sweet sea-music in the branches of the trees.

When the sun comes peeping Baby Poppy wakes herself, Twists herself and shakes herself, Throws aside her greeny bonnet With the silver down upon it, Says good-bye to sleeping When the sun comes peeping.

When the bees come wooing Lady Poppy crowns herself, Nods her head and gowns herself In the prettiest of dresses, Scarlet crinkled frillinesses, Knows what she is doing When the bees come wooing.

When the wind comes calling Mother Poppy shakes herself, Brown and crinkled makes herself, Opens little windows wide, Drops her babies down outside, Sees them softly falling When the wind comes calling.

There is a bird bath on our grass, I wait to watch it as I pass, And see the little sparrow things Stand on the edge with flapping wings. They give each eye a merry wink And stoop to take a little drink, And then, before I'm fairly gone, They bath with all their clothing on!

Yellow the bracken, Golden the sheaves, Rosy the apples, Crimson the leaves; Mist on the hillside, Clouds grey and white. Autumn, good morning! Summer, good night!

Who will feed the dicky-birds on the garden wall? Winter-time is very big—they are very small!

Who will feed the dicky-birds on the frozen trees? Every little twitter means, "Feed us, if you please!"

Who will feed the dicky-birds in the frost and snow? See them on the chimney-pot, cuddled in a row!

Who will feed the dicky-birds till the days of spring? Think of what they do for you and the songs they sing!

I will feed the dicky-birds, and when Spring-time comes, Every little song will mean, "Thank you for the crumbs!"

She is the friend of Santa Claus, You never hear her step, because In velvet shoes she likes to creep To put the boys and girls to sleep.

They like to stay awake and try To see the dear old man come by, But little Sleep, who is so wise, Puts velvet fingers on their eyes.

She steals across a thousand floors, This faithful friend of Santa Claus; So even if you stay awake She'll leave you sleeping for his sake!

"Tick-tock," said the Nursery Clock, "Please remember that little sock; Nannie, mend the hole in the toe, The goodies will tumble out, you know. Tick-tock, tick-tock," Said the clickity-clackity Nursery Clock.

"Hush, hush," said Santa Claus, As he peeped inside the bedroom doors, "I am looking around for a little sock, Do you know where it is, please, Mr Clock?" "Tick-tock, tick-tock, It hangs over there," said the Nursery Clock.

"Tick-tock," said the Nursery Clock, And pointed straight at the little sock. Oh, yes, he did, for don't you see, A clock has hands like you and me.... "Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am always right," said the Nursery Clock.