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I'm very glad the spring is come-
The sun shines out so bright,
The little birds upon the trees
Are singing for delight;

The young grass looks so fresh and green,
The lambkins sport and play,
And I can skip and run about
As merrily as they.

I like to see the daisy

And the buttercups once more,
The primrose and the cowslip too,
And every pretty flower.
I like to see the butterfly,

With fluttering painted wing,
And all things seem, just like myself,
So pleased to see the spring.

The fishes in the little brook
Are jumping up on high,
The lark is singing sweetly
As she mounts into the sky;
The rooks are building up their nests
Upon the great tall tree,
And everything's as busy
And as happy as can be.

There's not a cloud upon the sky,
There's nothing dark or sad,
I jump, and scarce know what to do,
I feel so very glad;

God must be very good indeed,
Who made each pretty thing,
I'm sure we ought to love Him much
For bringing back the spring.


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 colours bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom. In modest tints array'd;

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.


CHILD of patient industry,
Little active busy bee,

Thou art out at early morn,

Just as the opening flowers are born,
Among the green and grassy meads
Where the cowslips hang their heads;
Or by hedge-rows, while the dew
Glitters on the harebell blue,
Thou on eager wing art flown,
To thymy hillocks on the down;
Or to revel on the broom;

Or suck the clover's crimson bloom;
Murmuring still, thou busy bee,
Thy little ode to industry!



"WILL you walk into my parlour ?" Said the Spider to the Fly;


'Tis the prettiest little parlour That ever you did spy;

The way into my parlour
Is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things
To show when you are there.'
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly,
"To ask me is in vain,


For, who goes up your winding stair
Can ne'er come down again.
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear,
With soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed ?"
Said the Spider to the Fly.


There are pretty curtains drawn around ;
The sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile,
I'll snugly tuck you in !"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly,

"For I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again,
Who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly,
"Dear friend, what can I do,
To prove the warm affection,
I have always felt for you?
I have within my pantry,

Good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome-
Will you please to take a slice ?"

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "Kind sir, that cannot be; I've heard what's in your pantry, And I do not wish to see!" "Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "You're witty and you're wise, How handsome are your gauzy wings, How brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass Upon my parlour shelf,

If you'll step in one moment, dear, You shall behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "For what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, And went into his den,

For well he knew the silly Fly

Would soon come back again :

So he wove a subtle web,

In a little corner sly, And set his table ready,

To dine upon the Fly.

Then he came out to his door again, And merrily did sing,

"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly,

With the pearl and silver wing;

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