THE PIPER ON THE HILL

A CHILD'S SONG

THERE sits a piper on the hill

Who pipes the livelong day,

And when he pipes both loud and shrill, The frightened people say: "The wind, the wind is blowing up

'Tis rising to a gale."

The women hurry to the shore

To watch some distant sail.

The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing to a gale.

But when he pipes all sweet and low,

The piper on the hill,

I hear the merry women go

With laughter, loud and shrill:
"The wind, the wind is coming south
"Twill blow a gentle day.”

They gather on the meadow-land
To toss the yellow hay.

The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,

Is blowing south to-day.

And in the morn, when winter comes,

To keep the piper warm,

The little Angels shake their wings

To make a feather storm:

"The snow, the snow has come at last!”

The happy children call,

And "ring around" they dance in glee, And watch the snowflakes fall.

The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind, Has spread a snowy pall.

But when at night the piper plays,

I have not any fear,

Because God's windows open wide

The pretty tune to hear;

The Wind and the Moon

And when each crowding spirit looks,
From its star window-pane,

A watching mother may behold

Her little child again.

The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,

May blow her home again.

Dora Sigerson Shorter [18

THE WIND AND THE MOON

SAID the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out;

You stare

In the air

Like a ghost in a chair,

Always looking what I am about

I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.

So, deep

On a heap

Of clouds to sleep,

Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again!

On high

In the sky,

With her one ghost eye,

The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim. "With my sledge,

And my wedge,

I have knocked off her edge!

If only I blow right fierce and grim,

The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

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He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. "One puff

More 's enough

To blow her to snuff!

One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread."

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.
In the air

Nowhere

Was a moonbeam bare;

Far off and harmless the shy stars shone--
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;

On down,

In town,

Like a merry-mad clown,

He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage-he danced and blew;

But in vain

Was the pain

Of his bursting brain;

For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew-till she filled the night,

And shone

On her throne

In the sky alone,

A matchless, wonderful silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I!

With my breath,

Good faith!

I blew her to death

First blew her away right out of the sky

Then blew her in; what strength have I!"

Baby Seed Song

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair;

For high

In the sky,

With her one white eye,

Motionless, miles above the air,

She had never heard the great Wind blare.

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George Macdonald [1824-1905]

CHILD'S SONG IN SPRING

THE silver birch is a dainty lady,

She wears a satin gown;

The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,

She will not live in town.

The English oak is a sturdy fellow,

He gets his green coat late;

The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
While brown the beech trees wait.

Such a gay green gown God gives the larches-
As green as He is good!

The hazels hold up their arms for arches
When Spring rides through the wood.

The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
The poplar's gentle and tall,

But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city-
I love him best of all!

Edith Nesbit [1858

BABY SEED SONG

LITTLE brown brother, oh! little brown brother,

Are you awake in the dark?

Here we lie cosily, close to each other:

Hark to the song of the lark

"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;

Put on your green coats and gay,

Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you—
Waken! 'tis morning-'tis May!"

Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,
What kind of flower will you be?

I'll be a poppy-all white, like my mother;
Do be a poppy like me.

What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you
When you're grown golden and high!

But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;

Little brown brother, good-bye.

Edith Nesbit [1858

LITTLE DANDELION

GAY little Dandelion

Lights up the meads,
Swings on her slender foot,
Telleth her beads,

Lists to the robin's note

Poured from above;

Wise little Dandelion

Asks not for love.

Cold lie the daisy banks
Clothed but in green,
Where, in the days agone,

Bright hues were seen.
Wild pinks are slumbering,
Violets delay;

True little Dandelion

Greeteth the May.

Brave little Dandelion!

Fast falls the snow,
Bending the daffodil's
Haughty head low.
Under that fleecy tent,
Careless of cold,

Blithe little Dandelion
Counteth her gold.

Meek little Dandelion

Groweth more fair,

Till dies the amber dew

Out from her hair.