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/
MOTHER-PLAY
AND NURSERY SONGS
loctrg, lllirsic antr llicttTrfS
FOR THE
NOBLE CULTURE OF CHILD LIFE
WITH NOTES TO MOTHERS
BY
FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
L
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY FANNIE E. DWIGHT AND JOSEPHINE JARVIS
EDITED BY ELIZABETH P. PEABODY
CONTAINING ALL THE ORIGINAL MUSIC AND FINGER EXERCISES
WITH FACSIMILES OF OVER FIFTY ENGRAVINGS
FROM THE AUTHOR'S EDITION
BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
^
LIBR«HV of CONGRESS Two Cipiu RKtIved
SEk 27 1906
Cl/SS J XXC. N..
COFVKlCiHT, 1878, BY LEE AND ShEPARD.
Copyright, igo6, by Josephine J akvis. Mother-Play.
xf
M us I \ ■ / ,
Aoc.no.
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
m-
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Vignette Title Plate i
American Preface 7
German Preface (translated) 8
The Mother in Unity with her Child ... 9
Mother's Self-Communings 11
Music — Introductory Song 13
Play with the Limbs 17
Falling, Falling 18
Music — Play with the Limhs; Falling, Falling . ig
The Weather-vane 21
All's Gone 23
Music — Weather-vane, and All's Gone ... 25
Song of Taste 26
Song of Smell . . 27
Music — Song of Taste 29
Tick-tack 31
Music — Tick-tack 33
Grass-mowing 35
Ueckon to the Chickens 37
Music — Grass-mowing 39
Beckon to the Pigeons 41
Fishes 43
The Target; or, Lengthwise, Crosswise ... 45 Music — Beckon to the Pigeons; Fishes; The Tar- get, or Lengthwise, Crosswise 47
Pat-a-cake 49
The Bird's Nest 51
Music — Pat-a-cake, and The Little Nest ... 53
The Flower-basket 55
The Pigeon-house 57
Music — The Flower-basket, and The Pigeon-house. 59
This Little Thumb 61
Music — This Little Thumb 63
The Finger Game 65
Grandmother and Mother ,67
The Little Thumb is One 69
The Piano-Forte 70
Up and Down the Fingers Go . . . .^ . 71
Brothers and Sisters 73
Music — Finger-song, and Grandmamma ... 75 Music — Mother, Good and Dear; The Little Thumb
is One; The Piano-forte 76
Music — Brothers and Sisters 77
TACZ
Children at the Tower ....... 78
Child and the Moon 81
Boy and the Moon 82
Little Maiden and the Stars. . . . . .84
The Light-bird on the Wall 87
Music — The Light-bird on the Wall . . . . 89
The Rabbit 51
Music — The Rabbit 93
Wolf and Wild Boar 95-97
The Little Window 99
The Window loi
Music — Wolf and Wild Boar 103
Music — Little Window, and Window . . . .104
Charcoal Burner 105
Music — Charcoal Burner 107
The Carpenter 109
Music — The Carpenter m
The Bridge 113
The Barn-yard Gate nj
The Garden Gate 117
The Little Gardener ng
Music — The Bridge, and Barn-yard Gate . . .121
Music — Little Gardener 122
The Wheelwright 123
The Joiner 125
Music — Song of Perfume, and The V^^heelwright . 127
Music — The Joiner 128
The Knights and Good Child 129
Music — The Knights and Good Child. . . .131
The Knights and Ill-humored Child .... 133
Music — The Knights and Ill-humored Child . . 135
Child, Hide Thee .... ... 137
Music — Child, Hide Thee 139
Hiding of the Child 141
Music — Hide 143
Coo-coo 145
The Toyman and the Maiden 146
The Toyman and Boy 148
Church-door and Window ...... 150
Music — The Cuckoo 153
The Little Artist 155
Music — Conclusion 157
Notes to Mothers. 159
5
AMERICAN PREFACE.
BY ELIZABETH P. PEABODY.
'T'HIS book, nalque in the world's literature, is brought out in America in answer to a wide demand of American mothers. Froebel was born in Germany ; but he was truly cosmopolitan in spirit, and recognized that in America, where the nations have come together at last to understand one another, instead of meeting, as hitherto, to prey upon each other, the self-activity of universal childhood can best be cultivated for self-direction and self-government ; inasmuch as the first word of our nationality was, is, and ever shall be, " all men are created free and equal."
The only perfect guardian and cherisher of free self-activi- ty is the mother's love, who respects it in her own child by an instinct deeper than all thought, restraining her own self- will, and calling out a voluntary obedience (the only obedience worthy of the name), because it proceeds from hearts that " the forms of j'oung imagination have kept pure " (to quote the English poet, whose psychology of childhood is identical with Froebel's, (see Wordsworth's Ode on the Intimations of Immortality in Childhood).
In this study into the divine meaning of the instinctive, spontaneous plays of childhood, it was Froebel's purpose to elevate the mother's instinct into insight, and thereby purify it from idiosyncratic infirmities ; so that she might see, in the unconscious play of the child, the same laws working that make the archangel in his heavenly sphere ; even as the same laws that whirl the planets in their vast orbits guide the stone flung from a child's hand. Thus she would see, that, to make the child's play hearty and enjoyable, it must be kept so by her companionship and sympathy; and compass the childish aim successfully by her suggesting the laws of order which are not yet evolved in the child's own mind, but which orderly playing will develop, to guide the life forever after.
into communion with the wisdom, love, and power of GoA When this lesson is fully learned, and faithfully applied in education by mothers and their assistant kindergartners, who build the bridge between the mother's nursery and the schools of instruction, the demoralizing chaos, in which we seem to have been living for ages, will give way to a paradise more than regained, because glorified by that union of Love and Thought, as companions using the highway of human life, of which our own Emerson has sung,
** Who know one only mortal grief, Past all balsam and relief. When, by false companions crossed, The travellers have each other lost."
Some persons have foolishly suggested that there must be a difference between an American and German kindergarten. But the kindergarten, true to the one nature of childhood, is irrespective of all local circumstances. Generosity, self- respect, courtesy and reverence, spontaneous geometry, rhythmical motion, music, and plastic art, are universal as humanity; and it is these which make the kindergarten one and the same in all countries. Besides, so far as this book is redolent of the subjectivity of German life, it is a salutary contrast to the extreme objectivity of the American life; and the connection of opposites is the law of the complete, well-balanced life, that we are in pursuit of for our children and ourselves.
We particularly call attention to Miss Fanny E. Dwight's rendering of the German songs into English, at once literal and graceful, and adapted to the cadences of the music. Miss Josephine Jarvis's faithful translation of the prose is also commended.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND GERMAN EDITION.
BY DR. WICHARD LANGE.
■pROEBEL'S mother-songs are here offered to the public in their ori'^inal form. It has been often remarked, that both tlie poetry and the illustrations might be improved ; and we do not deny it. But wlio could alter them, without at the same time injuring the spirit which breathes through the whole? We have not to do here with disconnected stories and pictures. What we have before us is one whole, woven together with great ingenuity and skill : it is a leaf taken from German family life. In this book we have an example of that true spirit which regards earthly life as the fore- shadowing of a much higher e.xistence, the man as the highest development, and the child as a bud upon the tree of humanity containing within itself the germ of the whole. We see a rejoicing mother who deems herself supremely blest, because she recognizes that from her has sprung the Divine image in human form; and that she is admitted to take active part in the gradual development of tlie eternal in the mortal, of the unending in the transitory, in short, of the divme in the human. In faith she receives her first- born, as a gift direct from Heaven; embraces him fondly; tends him in hope; and, while happy in the contemplation of her darling, does not forget to tliank Him who is the ulti- mate source of all life. Hence she strives to open her child's mind gradually to the world around him; she touches the tiny hands, the little legs and feet, and the soft head of her darling, giving names to each limb ; she leads on the awakening mind to objects in nearest contact with his body, then to liunian life, then to nature, and finally to heavenly things. She brings before him pictures and repre-
sentations exciting feelings, developing notions, and unfold- ing the spirit of her child in the likeness and image of God.
The care and gradual education of children naturally de- volve upon woman, who is especially gifted, nay, inspired for this work, and whose love encompasses the child from the hour of its birth ; who guides all his first steps, and is herself moulded and formed anew while moulding and form- ing him. She must devote her experience to the task, throwing herself heart and soul into her mission (education), and remaining faithful to it till death ; shrinking from no privation, no sacrifice, and fearing neither opposition nof scorn from the ignorant outside world.
The book before us is not a complete mode of education, not a formal system of early /csso/ts for children ; but it is a moral ivliole, woven and held together by one prevailing fun damental Idea, and impressing wonderfully all those who are open to its influence ; a whole which arouses all dormant inclinations for good left by a healthy education ; a whole which awakens those purposes, thoughts, and resolutions which lead to salvation of heart ; a whole which points out the way the mother must follow, if she would solve her prac- tical problems irrespective of the criticism of a noisy mate- rial world. With this spirit, and from this standpoint, the mother will make her influence sensibly felt. For love only is the motive power and effectual working-lever in educa- tion.
May every mother, therefore, avail herself of this book as a partner in her labors, and receive it joyfully as a treasure for her family !
Introductory Song.
THE MOTHER IN UNITY WITH HER CHILD.
•\QH child of my heart, so fair and so dear!
^^ All softly the light of knowledge shines here.
What glows now so warm, thy infant form flushing,
And kindles my spirit, like spring's early blushing.? Pure FAITH it is, enthroned on thy brow, That thou a mother's shelter shall know. Pure LOVE it is, in thy laughing eyes. That light to the mother's soul supplies : Bright HOPE it is that throbs in thy breast, And makes for the mother life's fountain blessed.
Oh, come then, my darling ! each other viewing,
We'll live in springs of life renewing.
Whatever the heart of the child requiretli,
The mother's heart alike desireth ;
And surely thy faith, thy hope, thy love.
Shall cherished be by spirits above !
Through hoping, believing, and loving 'tit given
To feel the blessings and joys of heaven. 9
MOTHER'S SELF-COMMUNINGS.
FEELINGS OF A MOTHER ON BEHOLDING HER FIRST-BORN CHILD.
i^ GOD, my God ! in making me a wife,
eS- Thou'st crowned me with the noblest joy of life ;
And now thy greatest gift thou sendest me :
An angel child have I received from thee.
O husband, father! thank our God above For this fair token of our purest love : All do we find in this our first-born son, That in eternity shall make us one.
Though born in pain, take now thy peaceful rest, My darling child, upon thy mother's breast : Thee will we guard, 'mid earth's perpetual strife. Thou crown and sweet renewal of our life.
O God, our Father ! life's eternal source !
Grant thou that pure and straight may be his course.
We all thy children are : oh, let one love
Unite us all with thee in realms above !
THE MOTHER HAPPY IN THE CONTEMPLA- TION OF HER CHILD.
Who can the mother's bliss express
When playing with her infant boy? Beameth with love each fond caress, A bliss transcending earthly joy ! Then love most tender is, and all foreseeing. Caring for nought but her dear child's well-being.
My baby, my baby, come whisper to me. Why all is so dear and enchanting in thee. Why is it, that, dancing and tossing my boy, I discover each instant an ever new joy? Thy fair head is like the fresh budding flower. Crowned with the dews of the sweet morning hour. As stainless and pure as the new-fallen snow. Unspoiled and sinless shines forth thy young brow, As the blossom sheds perfume around on the air, So thou fillest my heart with a joy rich and rare.
Awakened by an infant's kiss.
Mother's joy is deepest bliss ! Thy cheeks, soft as velvet, so healthy and rosy. Are tinged with the glow of a midsummer posy; As shines the bright sun from the deep azure sky, So thy sunshiny spirit beams forth from thy eye, And the innocent smiles that are flashing on me Rivet firmer the chain that has bound me to thee.
Yea, truly, my child, from the hour of thy birth,
Thou'st been less like a mortal than angel on earth.
Already I see a foundation of strength '
That the trials of life will conquer at length ;
E'en now I can trace in thy form frail and young.
Contained in the feeble, the germ of the strong.
Though sown now in weakness, self-conquest I see.
Which gladdens my heart erst so tender for thee !
On my life there arises a happier morn :
I am purer and better since my darling was born.
To tend thee, to cherish my baby, my boy,
'Tis bliss, 'tis delight, 'tis my heart of heart's joy.
THE MOTHER WHILE PLAYING WITH HER CHILD.
The mother draws from gazing on her boy
The truest, sweetest, deepest of all joy ;
And, knowing well the fulness of that bliss.
Preserves for him life's greatest happiness.
O baby, sweet baby, my true love for thee
Is purer and brighter than pearls of the sea !
And shall I, my darling one, shall I now show thee
By what signs for my own dearest baby I know thee ?
This is the little head: when it is weary,
Kind mother's hand will support it, my deary.
Here are the forehead, and eyes opened wide.
Filling mother's fond heart with pleasure and pride;
And here are the cheeks, like the white and red rose.
That gently against mother's shoulder repose;
Here is the tiny and delicate ear.
Soon baby will listen sweet music to hear.
This is the small nose ; and here is the mouth
That must never speak any thing else but the truth ,
Here are the lips, like the red coralline,
So often already pressed close against mine ;
Here is the little round chin, rosy and small.
With the dimple that mother loves better than all ;
And this is the little face, winning and fair.
Encircled with ringlets of bright golden hair;
Here is the tender neck, snowy and round :
Ah, where could ever such another be found?
The throat that keeps baby's head steady is this.
So fat and so tempting for mother to kiss ;
And this is the back that gives promise of strength
When baby shall grow up to manhood at length.
These are the fingers and hands made for play :
My darling shall learn how to use them one day.
And these are — my sweet one — thy dear little arms ;
Feel how mother's embrace her babe comforts and warms,
And this is the heaving and well-moulded chest,
(My little one ought to have health of the best);
How calmly the innocent heart lieth there;
May it never be burdened by sorrow or care !
May it ever be pure as the bright summer skies,
Or as the first glances of infantine eyes !
Soon, soon, will it feel hidden fountains of life:
May they never be troubled by anger and strife !
See, here is one leg. and again here is one :
How long will it be ere thou walk quite alone?
\nd these are the rosy and fat little feet :
To good, not to ill, may they carry my sweet !
These arc the ankles, and these are the knees,
Which shall wade in the water as much as they please:
These balls on the feet, they are called baby's toes,
See, here tliey are. ten of them, placed in two rows.
And now all my darling's dear parts I have told.
He will sjjring from my lap when about a year old:
Soon after among other children he'll find
Some food to improve and to strengthen his mind;
Of which even now the beginnings I see.
And which shall be nurtured in silence by me.
THE MOTHER WATCHING THE DEVELOP. MENT OF HER CHILD.
Watching the daily progress of her child, The mother prays, "God keep him undefiled ! Cjuide him whene'er the tempest rages wild."
Yet she must do her best,
If hopeful she would rest
Llpon the Father's breast.
Oh ! come and see my little one, -
A flower first opening to the sun ,
The curly ]5ate so round and fair.
The forehead smooth, and free from care.
liright are my baby's eyes ; his ears, ere long,
Shall listen for the sound of mother's song;
His little nose shall smell the flowers bright ;
His mouth drink milk each morning, noon, and night.
His cheeks are rosy with refreshing slumber,
Dinted by laughing dimples without number.
Oil ! so fair and bright is he.
Should he not my treasure be ?
His hands he learns to ope and clasp,
His fingers just begin to grasp.
With pleasure now he takes his ball.
Loves it, and will not let it fall.
So strong my baby's arms are grown.
That he can wave them up and down ;
And even sometimes he is able
To bound his ball upon the table.
His legs begin to jump so high
As if he wished to reach the sky.
My child ! 'tis life, the heavenly power,
That makes thee stronger every hour ;
'Tis mine to guard and mine to guide This life, my pleasure and my pride ; For in the joy of life at length My child will learn to know his strength, — Will learn that he must work and strive, If he would well and nobly live.
THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD STANDING ON HER LAP OR RESTING IN HER ARMS.
Happy the motlier striving day by day To train her child by loving, healthful play ! How happy she who by her inward light Expands and warms the human blossom bright! For where the sun in greatest glory plays. Thither the fiower turns to catch his rays.
My baby ! ope those eyes of azure deep ;
For mother through them to thy heart would creep,
While thou with rosy lips upon me smilest,
With cherub laughter weary thoughts beguilest.
Give me thy little mouth, that by a kiss
Thou mayest gently seal thy mother's bliss ;
Reach me thy hands so fair and soft and round,
Two chains by which fond mother may be bound ;
Throw round my neck thy plump, caressing arm,
To keep me with its loving pressure warm ;
Show me, too, thy ear so fair.
And little head with downy hair, —
That my child, in love's warm light,
May grow up as the lily white.
Free from spot and free from stain,
On life's cloud-traversed, verdant plain !
Plant firm thy feeble feet upon thy mother's lap :
What joy to feel her near thee always, whatsoe'er may hap !
She aye will strive to be for thee her joy and fond delight.
Like genial rays of sunshine that disperse the shades of
night. Repose, then, calmly on thy mother's loving breast. So shall we bctli be happy, peaceful, blest !
THE CHILD AT THE MOTHER'S BREAST.
Oh, see with what content and zest The infant clasps his mother's breast! A native instinct now doth move The child to trust his mother's love. As he from her receives his food. From her he seeks the highest good. One day (with reverence returning His mother's care and silent yearning), His mind will grasp the clew of right, From her example pure and bright.
Mother! not only food he takes from thee.
But, to a slumbering instinct true,
He seeks for love and kindness too. From heart that's full of mother's sympathy.
IS
INTRODUCTORY SONG.
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^
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16
Pcrf.^^ I'ed Jf.
Play with the Limbs
\\ HEN first the ch Id del ghts to try \\ hat strength v th n h s hn bi lay 1 e The nother nur er> plaj be„ d
It IS a 1 It from heaven
Unto the motl cr given 1 hro lot vard nner 1 fe to waken Throu h play an 1 th ^1 tful port to qu cken The sense that feel n fores ght brine;s
S07tg
"llf OW the little limbs fl) out '^^"^ Tossin" roll ck i g all about ' Thus will the\ ^i n life an 1 strensjth — Stii p tl e flax seed out at kni'tl , To mike the oil so cleir and brij,! t Th-it feeds the pretty lamp all n ght, ■\\ here mother s love burns still and clear \\ 1 1l atchin ' o cr her child so dear
"~1
/&
'^^i?'
Vsr
!>/(*■
FallinQ-, Fallino!
" A DEEPER teeling underlies Each little play the mother tries. Tims, ill the 'Falling, falling!' game, The mind conceives a higher aim; Thy child shall gain the strength and skill To conquer many a coming ill, — Shall many a threat'ning fall avoid. When tripping by his mother's side.
Song.
fraiOWN he goes now, falling, falling ! ^^*^ Up he springs at mother's calling ! Laughs he now in frolic glee, — Laughs so safely there to be. Sure he knows no harm befals him While his loving mother calls him. Down he goes now, falling, falling ! Up he springs at mother's calling ! Soul and body thus unfolding, Mother's love is ever moulding.
No, 1.
(M.M.J =120.)
PLAY WITH THE LIMBS.
CTr !i^ i
How the lit - tie limbs
T
4=
oat,
g 9 r —
m
*
Tos - sii^, rol - hck - ing all a - boat I
^^m
^
±
5^
^
jt|^
i<:
Thus they gain their health and strength. Stamp the flax seed out at length, To
3
«
i
^-
T
make the oil so clear and bright, That feeds
^g:
>^ g g-
S
the pret - ty lamp all night. Where
i
5—4 — «
i
3
T
-*?— 5-
=P==5:
:^:
i
^1
r
moth • er's love boms still and clear. While watch - ing o'er her child so dear.
No. 2.
(M.M.J =126.)
FALLING, FALLINGI
^
^E^
:K
^
ing!
^
Down he goes, now fall - ing, fall
Up
I he springs at moth - er's
I:
^
^-ir
-^ 1-
u
i
4=
call - ing. Laughs ho now in frol - ic glee, Laughs so safe - ly there to
|
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lie,
Sure he knows no harm bo - falls him, While his lov - mg moth - er
m
calls
him, Down he goes, now fall - ing, fall - ing! Up ho springs at mother's
12=15:
^
Nr
£
^m^
call - ing. Soul and bod - y thus un - folding, Moth -er's Ioto Is ev - er
monldinsr.
No. 3.
THE WEATHERVANE.
(m.m. y^69.)
^^:iS
E==v
-g— 5^
I ' .g. *
rt^^t
■>V
^^
^
i
*^=i=s
As the Tane op - on the tow - er Turns when winds and tern - pests low - er,
e^
So my child
^~^^f=%
^=K
u^ •«'
his hand is turn - ing, l*ret - ty play and
son learn • ing.
No. 4.
ALL'S GONE!
(m.m. ,'=152.)
-N N
EBEE
-t ^-l-
Gone, gone,
3^
^ * i -
my child, all gone I The sup
per
now
IS
gone.
Ba - by is not now
s
3
:t5=
^
now with -out it, Lit
S
tie month knows all
a - bout
i
it;
^^^^^^^m
Lit
tie tongue hath in it dipped, Down
the lit
£
tie throat it slipped;
m
w
fc
Kow
it makes my
3
^^
ba
by gay,
Full of frol - ic.
-A— 57-
5^=5:
of frol - ic, full of play.
in health my child shall beam,
and cream.
Now
1} l'^Ji_L~fTt~f"Ft
in health my child shall beam,
ifcl
^-
Red
and white like
like
rose
?
11
and cream.
'fS& —
Song of Taste.
"Ever through the senses Nature woos the child J Thou canst lielp him comprehend her lessons milA By the senses is the inner door unsealed, Where the spirit glows in light revealed. Through the senses the child's soul lies open : Keep the impressions pure; whate'er may happen. Many a care in life shall lighter seem. And life more joyfully, serenely beam."
SoK£:
*7&HILD, now open thy mouth ! I'll show ' C>5. What is good for thee to know. '
Bite this plum so full of juice, — Make thy little tongue of use. "Say, how tastes it?" "Ah, good, good ! " Yes, the tongue has found it good.
Now then, bite this apple sound ; Red the apple is, and round ! All thy rosy face is wrinkled. As paper in the fire is crinkled. Sour, very? sharp and sour? Sweets the children love far more.
Now the bitter almond try, — This he tastes more willingly : Bitter things are wholesome too, Draws the mouth a little, though. Iiitter in life we often meet : Life will make the bitter sweet.
Unripe fruit avoid still more, —
It is harsh from rind to core ;
Vain and grief 'twill bring thee ever.
Let it tempt my darling never.
Life and strength he must not waste ;
What is unripe never taste.
26
Song of Smell.
'The child full early may perceive,
In every thing that lives, The inner presence of a power.
That for existence strives. Be it in color or in form,
Or fragrance of the flower. All are to existence called,
By one directing power."
Song.
Yj^OW my little rogue may smell ^S These sweet flowers he loves so well, ■
Ah, sweet ! so sweet ! Ah ! what is it ? Canst thou tell,
So sweet, so sweet, Where the hidden source may dwell? Yes ! an angel in the cell All the cup with sweets doth fill ; Says, "Though from the child concealed. Sweet perfumes I freely yield,
So sweet, so sweet ! " Let me too the angel greet ; Let me smell the perfume sweet, —
So sweet, so sweet, so sweet !
G^h/^
No. 5.
SONG OF TASTE.
(M. M. ^=72.)
im^M
jit
^lit
±
-» —
n
^
:*=^.
-&-. \— t^ i^: — P-a-
^^
■0- — « — b^-/-
t
■^/-
J
1. Child, now open thy mouth! I'll show What is good for thee to know ; Bite the plum so full of juio,
i
;^i^
^
^
ICZ*
:Srt-^
^^^^
-^*f-
v^
^
Make the lit - tlo tongue of use. Sayl how tastes it? good, good I Yes, the tongue hath found it good.
2. Now then bite this ap - pie sound, Bed it is, and smooth and round. All thy ro - sy face is wrinkled,
-«—
5SS
5— S a a fi! ^ \ H<«a-U/>,=-JJ-i:r-. J-^-O ^ ' I *? -ii-l ^
-g— r
5^^^5=^:
:^^
Like pa - per in the fire crinkled, Sour,
/ ^ " ;/ 4^
very sharp and sour? Sweets the children like far more.
It
i
S^E
St=^
^»— /-
^ — ^
5-i-
9-^
T% ^-
-* — h
S
3:
-c-
-9rn
-o-i.
— r
3. Now the bit - ter aJ - mond try I This he tastes more will - ing - ly ; Bit - ter thin^^s are wholesome too.
^^si
3^E^aa^5^S35s
^^
SJ!!-^
-«-ft
-g-g-
^=fe
3
,v
->— V
Draws the mouth a lit - tie. though, Bitr ter in life wo often meet; Life
31
4t
will make the bit-tor sweet.
|
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4 Un - ripe fruit avoid still more, It is harsh from rind to core, Pain and grief 'twill bring you ever,
^
e
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=*=-;?«
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it«^-^^ ^fl^-*^^-^ — /-y-i-;^ ^ — / y — / — ^ — i>-^-a- ' ^ — ^;j:-*-<»-^
Let it tempt my darling never. Life and strengtli we must not waste, What is nn - ripe never taste.
29
]|
31
No. 6.
(m. M. y=92.)
TICK, TACKI
To anc
N N
.^-^
it
35
-*^-«
5
^
and fro,
To
and fro,
Goes the pendulum. sure and slow,
i
S=P
i
-p~
So
wiU
my
arm
in
cline, Just
in
time and just
in
line,
S
^
Beat by beat, with for - ward, back.
Ev
er
tick. and ev - er
tacL
1 ^"f [■■>+;
&^
^EE
N ^
^
tick, tack! tick,
tack!
tick.
tackl
UcL
tack!
Lit - tic clock saves
*
itit
3:
f
•
*5:
me from care. Tells me when the right hours are. For
-:ir
eat - ing, for sleep -ing, for
3 S
play and all, For
., i/ 1/ 5/ ;^
ris - ing and bathing it
sounds the call^ Makes my heart beat
i
w
pore and tme,
Keeps me well and ac - tivo too,
Beat by beat with
^^
:ti2:
^1
W
izi
for - ward back.
Ev
er
tick and
ev
er tack I Tick, tick, tack!
.iSiiil
^:::f
s
Ko. 7.
(M.M.J =80.)
GRASS MOWING.
S
-^-i=^
S
-JCL
Hast- en to the meadow, Pe • ter,
i
h
Mow the grass, what could be sweet- er?
---u^r.
t=q
-^
••^=3 — *-
^
^
f
r*-
Bring us home the fra - grant fodder, For the cow, for milk and bnt - ter. Cow is ip the
lE^
bzsl^^zz^
i
^z
f^-r-r
3^^=^=St
r
2
3
Jt
bam - yard straying. Milk her now, with - out de - lay - ing ; Cow the good rich milk is giv - ing.
^
^
X^
Nt'
li:
i
m.
Si=¥
^^P^e
ij
^
Milk and bread are ba - by's liv-ing; Let us grate- ful be for la - bors, Bring -ing us so
^
^^
:t=
S^ss?^
:rr\
ma - ny fa- vors;Let ns grate- ful be for la -bors, Bringiu;:? us so ma - ny fa-vors.
i
^
Hast - en to
3t
31
it
r^
i
^>=«:
the meadow, Pe -ter, Mow the grass, what can be sweeter? Thank thee, Pe- ter,
■^-
^
r-
^
-+-
"g — ZfT
^m
^
r
^ Y
-&-
g
^ "^^
for the mowing. Thank the cow, the mUk be -stow -ing, for the milkin;^ thank our Mol - ly
H-x-» H ^
^
nS — • — ■— t-
3fi
• • d
^^
3^
-«-^-
-g-^-
-• — •-
ae:
^1
Ba-ker for the rolls so jol-ly. For the supper thank mamma.
9-^ 9
So no thanks for- got - ten are.
No. 8.
(M.M.J =76.)
BECKON TO THE CHICKENSI
-» JT-
s±
-/n
Beck - on to
the chick -ens small, 39
Come, dear chick - ens,
&
1/ one
:^
and
r^-^
M
all I
'"^-^'^te.
The Taroret; or, Lenothwise, Crosswise.
' Though meaningless this play may seem, There's more in it tlian one might dream, To hmi who daily would behold The child's young mind unfold. Like the rough stone it is ; like light, Wherem the separate hues unite, Like many things in one that meet, To make the whole complete. Where all the active work and skill Moves nit by arbitrary will ; Where exists proportion fair, The child must feel a beauty there. When all complete and polished lies,
He feels in his heart a glad surprise, - He feels the charm that binds in one The work in several parts begun. Behold, then, in this little play, A world-wide truth set free ! Easily may a symbol teach What thy reason may not reach. The object to the soul can speak. Far stronger the impression make. More living is a perfect whole, — Deeper than words it moves the soul, And, by its work complete and good, Ensures a true and healthy mood."
Sotic
^HIS piece of wood I lengthwise lay; ■SI) Tliis piece across the other way, Throu£;h both I bore a good round hole; A wooden nail drive through the whole. This board will for the disc avail: The target is ready now for sale.
"What costs it?"
" Three iialfpennics."
"Why three halfpennies.''
That's one too many." "One halfpenny pays for the frame of wood; One halfpenny pays for the little smooth board : One halfpenny pays for the work about it: Who cannot pay it may go without it."
No. 9.
(m.m. ^
BECKON TO THE PIGEONS.
69.)
— y::«T.
^teg
^--
i£:izt:
±±:
i^-%=^=i
<^
^f-9-
8=^
A— \
JL
-^
^]
The pigeons are com - ing, dear love, to meet yoa,
Beckon, then say, "sweet pigeons, I greet yon I
No. 10.
(M.M. J =72.)
FISHES IN THE BROOK,
ii^fpi
-0-
Jt.
-o-
^^S
the brook - let ck^r.
Swim the bright fish - es
^
far and near. Now
darting, now floating, ever they go,
Some of them straight, some bent like a bow.
No. 11. LENGTHWISE, CROSSWISE, or the Target.
(m.m. J = 69.)
P
V N-
:^^t=:
ior
This piece of
- » .5. /
vood I length - wise lay, This
piece
across
r^*-
-SiJ
the oth
s
er way. Through
_1J ^-
w
\ I X
tf-
'^-
=^=^
-a-
-6h-
both I bore now a good roajid hole, A wood - en nail drive through the whole. This board will for the
±
jt±
jt±
-K-
r2:
'7 lj-^^0 0 ' I ± -0-^0 0 I I 7-^r
:n7-?-2-::K— -^
disc avail. The target is ready now for sale! What costs it? Three half pennies;
Wh
hy three half
<f\
(m.m. J =100.)
i
-€ ' ^7 7-^
-^ — N
t=f^
i-^-^H t -tzfczgJEpS^:
pennies ? Thars one too many !
^
■^FS=
O."
1^
-0 0-
-iV
-N-iS
One half penny pays for the frame of wood. One half penny pays for the
Utile smooth board, One half penny pays for the work a - bout it,
who cannot pay it may go without ill
No. 12.
(M.M.J— 80.
PAT A CAKEl
|
~ih^ — |
— ^ r ^-j ; — -r- |
— H — ^ .-.' - 1 — ?< — |
|
E#^£^ |
-^-i — s-^^-^5 — J — |
—t-i — i '^ '• i — i — |
New my child would have ns bak
of her own mak - ins;.
I
i
©t^
P&t
the cake
I^
pinooth and broad.
Ila - ker says,
T—y
"now all aboard !
i
^
-fi-
-«?
-LJ u
-s*
Bring
-^<-
thc lit
tie cake
to mc.
Soon
my ov
V -i
en
cold will he.
|
F7t=^ |
— /- ;' ; 1' f^ s-4 — -■ |
\ N ^ N -^ — T — ^ — iT-j* — %' ' t — % — |
— *?- |
|
^^^=^ |
« — « — J — « — ^^^^ — / — 1 — *— F — |
% ' — ? — — ^:_* T T — — * 0 — ^ — « — ^g^ — ^ \ — |
•01 1 . |
Ba - ker, here Is the cake so fine.
Ikiko
it well for this child of mine!
ir^
v-TZfli-
^
3
N
I
• V * '
Soon now the cake shall be goUT - en brown. Deep in the ov - en TU shove it down."
Ro. 13.
THE LITTLE NEST.
|
(M.M.J |
= 76.) |
— *^] 1 ■ |
Tt^ |
— S-^r- • 5 — |
— ^1 |
-i^ |
— *- |
o ~ |
— Si |
r— V- |
— V- |
— 1 — |
— V] 1 ■ |
— V- |
— ^ ^ ^ ■ |
— ^^ — 1 |
|
^¥H^ |
t-^- |
-J- |
Ij^l |
s — *— 1/— |
— *- |
1— / — |
— • — |
• |
-$- |
-i^ |
-g_ |
«- |
=gd |
Lj- |
-Sig=S= |
^ |
|
Fffc |
^ |
-^ |
— A-iq |
— \— |
=ir:;=^ |
— ^ |
-.^- |
_s^ |
1 — V- — # — |
=i?-^ |
:^ |
=r= |
— ^"^ — •— |
— # — — » — |
rr^= |
«E 0 |
^ |
|
|
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1? • |
— • — |
%—-: |
s= |
=S=S=^ |
— #— |
• • |
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1^-^- |
— #= |
• |
4^ |
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1 — ^ — |
— v* — |
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laid there - in. Two little birds to sing Ikj - gin, Calling the mother: Pip, pip. pip,
F:#=S=^
-g-H-g^
1
^
^=^
i. •
^
N-i7-
Ul
Dear, oh so dear, pipi
Moth-er dear, pip! Moth - er dear, pip!
53
Dear, oh so dear, pip!
No. 14.
THE BASKET.
I
h
(M.M.J =76.)
±r.
^S-
Weave the lit - tie bas - ket: take
T
^
«=*
S * f 1
In the gar - den, we will make it
i
fct
s
i
— >j
^
^
=i=K
S
*
-T^-^
J — 'M •-
_rfa wt m-
-g 8 •-
Gay with flowers, freshly bloomii^, Father's birthday now is com-ing; Now to dear pa-
j.» iij J' j J1UU-:':^5B^
EE^;
<-^*F-
^
:!t:t
-0 — a-
^
-• ir
I
pa we bring it. With this song and thus we sing it,Lalalala, Lalalala,
*
^^=^
t:} *?
Flow'rs sweet and fair,
N ^ y
-a — #-
t^f=%
tr-P^-
-N— N
•• — P — • — i=-
-» * i
W— ^
-^T
feg=s4
La la la la.
La la la la, Greet my dear pa- pa!
^]
No. 15.
(m.m. ,1 = 80.)
^
THE PIGEON HOUSE.
pen now
-V-
my pig
E
^^
E
eon house, Out fly all the pigeons, once
more let loose, A - way to the broad green fields they fly, They pass the day right
■ff-ftfr
^
tr—K/
fR=^
^
■I ' TTH ±-ffH 1- #'
itTt
f^^rr
mer . ri - ly. And when they come back to rest at night, A - gain I close;
my
pigeon house tight. And when they come home to rest at night, A - gain I close my pigeon house tight.
i
No. 16. ¥5
(m. M. y=72.)
S
THIS LITTLE THUMB.
ir\
^ 7 r
What's this ? what's thia ? what's th^?
i*
a^t
^
— N-
=#-^ — a^
t=2=r
This is
-»-*-
-g 7 g
lit - tie thamb roand. It
looks just like a plum round. And this? and this? and this? This lit -tie finger points the place, And
rT\
I
I^^-^-
/TN
^Ep?3;E
I 7 i^
»=^=5
-»-Jd
¥j=fe
^
:<-*-4
*!
p: :jit*=^
straight it is, yet bends with grace; And this? and this? and this? This finger doth the longest show, And
makes the mid -die of the row. And this? and this ? and this ? This one the gold - en ring shall wear, And
s
P^^3^S^5^^^^=5Ea5
iJzSzia
^
3=s=^
8 — S * «< '
like the gold is pure and fair. And this ? aid this ? and this ? This fin - ger is the least of all, And
just completes the number small. Oh yes I oh yes ! oh yes I Oh yes, it is,
I N f^r ^ I ^ ) ^-1 i ^ rn ^ b» ^ ^ 0 I J
■J J h*j^^L J ^ F^ I T'^r :~*~rr~p==^=^
<,>v J.
it is I
And
i
^
^
though these lit - tie gifts
i
Have each a part to fill. They're all to - geth - er bound. And
I . ^
-^f— t
fc
^
W^=P^
~7 \ ? f^
And thou<ib these lit
X
gov - emed by
oue wilL
tie gifts
Have
i
a^tat:
±#
J
:r
45-
f
±^
^
-# — •-
t^f-^
=J?«
iJ
each
a part to fUl,
They're all to - geth - er bound.
And gov - emed by one will.
Grandmother and Mother.
" Early the child divines aright, That several parts in one whole unite : Then the family-circle show, — Let him every member know.''
^GEHIS is the grandmamma ;
^<J This is the grandpapa;
This is tlie father;
This is the motlier ;
This is mother's child so dear:
Now we have all the family here.
This is the mother good and dear ; This is the father, with hearty cheer ; This is the brother, stout and tall ; This is the sister, that plays with her doll And this is the little one, pet of all. liehold the good family, great and small, Who with thoughtful care, and one in v.ii! Work well and true joy's cup to fill.
•>-<s/
The Little Thumb is One,
Counting is a noble art, That man is wont to underrate. How good the art, he scarce may feel: Thought only will its use reveal. True and accurate counting
Leads to the good and true; All that is evil surmounting, For good it will ever renew."
<jEHE little thumb is one; The pointing finger two;
The middle finger three;
The ring finger four ;
The little finger five. I take them, Take them snugly all in bed, Sound asleep : let nought be said.
Silence ! do not early wake them.
c$jp»-
The Piano -Forte.
'What pleasure when the chile! has found Wluit his eye enjoys gives out a sound I Much is thus given to the outer car, That man all unheeding will not hear. Then call the child's attention to it now, And all his life in joyous streaui shall How.'
^a70UCH the clavier now ! &j2 Upon its ivory row. Press, my child, a finger down. Out there springs a lovely tone :
|
'La, |
^a, ■■'la, -"la, 'la ; 'La, "la, la, "la, 'la. 'La, -la, ^a, "la ; ^La, ^la, "la, 'la ; 'La, "la, ^a, ^a ; |
|
|
"La, ''la, '-la, |
'la. |
|
|
'La, |
^la, -^a ; '°La, "la, "la ; «La, "la, 'la ; 'La, "la, -'la ; "La, ^la, ^a ; |
|
|
'La, |
^La, ^a, ^a; ='La,^\a; ^La,"la; "La, 'la ; 'La, "la ; "La, -^a ; ^Ui, Ha ; |
'la. |
|
'La, |
•%; ^La,"la; •'La, 'la; 'La,'%; "La, ^la ; |
■la; |
«La, 'la.
^%^&t
fP avid d own the fingers go, Up and down the finger springs, Though so few tlie notes we hear,
5 3 t ; 1 3 1 5 5 < < 3 2 I ''•''-.- ^-. ,'
Now with speed and now more slow, Still its song the clavier sings. Sweet the cadence is and clear.
As the lark's song joyous rings, Now my child thy hand is small,
•I '1 5 5 &4''Jl"5 42 2 1343
When to heaven he spreads his wings, Fingers weak the tone to call,
3 2 4 3 5 4 3
Gladly we the clavier seek,
2 354 32 1 32 1 2 34 2 132 1
When our hearts in song would speak. When the notes with song unite.
No. 17.
FINGER SONG.
l±^=^
(m.m. J=108.)
h ^-
^-^
-0-i-
Thnmbs and
fin
gers,
1/ Say
good
morn
inji!
First
and
it
f=^
-O
M-'r^-l:
'^
-*?— ^-
ffi
-*^#-r-
~g-
■^g a
EE
i-i^^Sz^^lfi
mid -die,
Eing
re
ceiv
er,
Least of all, . too, Say good morn
ing!
m
E
iri;
at
f-
S
r
So
all
with grace
ful
and
cour
te
oos
bow - in",
Ail
I
^
S
r— ^
■1^
5£
:^
greeting and honor on you are be - stow - ing,
So
^^
all with graceful
and
*
i
cour
=S=
t:
Et
S
te - ous bow - ing. All greeting and honor on
you
^
are be - stow - ing.
i
No. 18.
(M.M.J =96.)
^
^
GRANDMAMMA.
?
S3±
-^-4^
; ^ '7
-•-^
r
s
^=5:
This is the Grandmamma, This is the Grandpa- pa, This is the Father,
^
i
^
This
fT~in=
This is the Mother, This is mother's child so dear, Now we have the whole family here.
-A-
1
IS
moth - fir's child
so
dear,
Now we have the whole fam
r:7
iin - 1 - ly
here.
75
No. 19.
(M.M. J:
IWOTHER, GOOD AND DEAR.
Slit
76.)
:P
-« — •-^■w — o- -o a— g— o-
=g=
=^
33
5^
li
5* This is
tbo moth - er, pood and dear, -i*-^f__
This is the father with heart - y cheer ;
^ !l 4
rf-
This is the brother, stoat and tall, This is the sis- tcr tiiaL plays with her doll, And
this is the lit - tie one, pet of all,
1)0 - hold the good fain - 1 - ly, great and small !
No. 20.
(M.M. J =152.)
THE LITTLE THUMB iS ONE.
1/ ^ ^ ^ ^ ' ■> ^
The lit - tie thumb is one, The pointing fin - ger two. The middle fin - ger three, The
--N-
-* — d- — f^—ni-
s:
M^S
^ — '
-9- -0-
-^r^
s — s-
-90-
l=±=5^.
•H
ring finger four. The lit - tie fin - ger five. 1 take them, Take them snugly all in bed.
'^^^^
Sound asleep, let naught be said, tiilena'! do not early wake them, Silence ! do not ear-ly wake them.
No. 21.
(M.M ^=152.)
THE PIANOFORTE.
--^.i^r-N:
4-v
Izitzfz
-0^
-a-
^^^Gg3^
Touch the cla - vier now
P
I'p - on its i
vor-y row,
-u
'0-
-n»-
-0- -0-
>-ir
-0-
-&=i%.:=^A
Press, my child, a
±.
-g— ar
-0 — s-
fin - ger down, Out there springs a
-Xz
■■^r=i^-
—T ' — ~n — m 0 .
i«-
loTO - ly
Vt
la,
La la La la,
La la la
tone,
La la la la la.
La la la la
:h
— Nt — 1 — ^~T — *;~n — ^ — ^T — I — ? — rrsf
g-*+^=f
la.
I.a Li la la.
lia la la
r
hi.
ti
k
pa
^
^ — r-T — V
La
i
^^
i
i
fc
la la
la la la I
N N
d *
^
a la
-• ■ g S — a- Li la la la
Z0—9-
_d &_
la
la
la
-»-S g_^jg=jg
Frt
i
i
=^
la la la la la la la la la la la la, N P^ ^ Nc-n — N \ N S V-
la
5
la la la la
la
^
Up
S
and down the fin - gers
^^
G
-t^n-
m
go,
s
m
iS:
now with speed and new more slow. Dp and down the fin - ger springs. Still its song the clavier sings.
No. 22.
(M.M.J =76.)
BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
^^I&^
tfESEEEj^
;g4=f=i:
-^— V
e^
«^— ^-
^ W-
*=t^
ZtZJtL
'S-zt
er-g-
^"^ifczc:
-^^^ — ^
J#^ T^
S34
trg
I ,
Lol sunk in each oth - ers' arms thoy lie, Drar brothers and sis - ters so peace - ful-ly. All
^
H ■ i ■ L ( ^■■^ 1 it-l
tired
of work and pleasure, They galh - er streni,'th from night's long leisure ; But
:t^:
:>-- NiT-
■*• :r v-.of-tT
-g-^
-A-
— ' — 56' ^— U* ^ 1 H 0 ■
ere they close their weary eyes, Their thonghts to their Cre-a - tor rise ; The source of life and all things dear, The
t:
V~N — V
^^
-X— V
-r^r-&
-« OH
4=^
-O O-i—
I '-^ ■
-V>r
=g=gT:
-g— »^-
ii
Father of all, Who art ev - er near ; Then sleep, |_ I N Nx I ^ -ViT r— N — N— A--
dear children in soft
~0- 1>
re - pose, He '^ho
-N N ^ 1 -f— A — I
3
•-i — *
-«-
? "J 7 t
-!=U
watcheth all, Eeareth ev-'ry call. And softly now e? - 'ry eye doth close. Then child of my hean, do
I
%--
:«?*
S
N£
7-2
:t~*±^^
9—
5s:
«—
l-5-?3-«-*?
:^
•— €-
-*-T-»
S
^ f - ' '-^- c
Ny'^'
:g:^:r5:?
Sz:±5-^
:^
1* '
=STg--r
:t
thou like the rest. And slumber, slumber, by love caressed, And slumber, slumber, by love caressed.
Nos. 23. 24, 25 & 26 Are spoken.
1]
Children at the Tower.
'WiiAi'icvER singly thou hast played, May in one charming whole be made. The child alone delights to play, But better still with comrades gay. The single flower we love to view, Still more the wreath of varied hue. In this and all the child may find The least within the whole combined."
So
yHHWO hands ! thereon eight fingers are ; ^? Two thmnbs tlie two gTandmotliers are. They've come to make each other a call : 'Tis long since they have met at all, — They bid each other welcome.
Oh, welcome ! Oh, welcome ! Such bowings and such greetings ! Such glad and tender meetings ! They talk as if they would never rest ; They tell of the basket, the eggs in the nest ; They tell of the doves and the pigeon-house, — How they fly in and out in gay carouse.
They tell of the little fishes gay,
In the sparkling water floating away ;
The baker and little patty-cakes ;
The target the good brother makes. Now, when they've reviewed their plays all through, They ask each other what next they shall do. The fingers say, " To the steeple we'll go ! " Rut the little grandmothers, they say, " No ! " In the church-door the grandmothers iro.
-!^
The Child and the Moon.
OME, child, and see the moon, — ^ She makes it bright as noon. Come, moon, so good and mild, Come to my little child. " Gladly would I come to thee But I dwell too far away, you see : From my blue house I cannot go, My golden light I can send below. If I cannot to the child come near, I send my light and love so dear. So now, my child, be good and wise: From time to time I climb the skies. And I will send thee from above A mild and tender glance of love, And each the other meeting. Exchange a joyful greeting." Good-bye, my moon, good-bye ! With love shall love reply.
ilie Boy and the Moon.
Wf t seem objects in a far-off sphere
To the child's inner sense to shine so near ?
\Vh/ longs he for them, wishing heartily
That he might now in close relation be ?
A lesson 'tis, to help his mind unfold :
Do not disturb the little fancy bold ;
Let not the fond illusion pass away
Until a true thought may its place supply,
Until the true relation thou canst show.
And through the outer he the inner tie may know.
Then trouble not the child in his sweet dream,
Ncr dare to say, " things are not what they seem."
He feels the heavens are near,
Nor has a thought of fear — Let him to heaven then still extend his arm. And in the happy dream be kept from harm.
Song.
" ^j^^'^^^^' ^^^ *^ ™°°" ■ " *^ ^°y '^ calling, oiJ^— Far outstretching longingly his hands ;
While in heaven the bright full-moon is mounting,
Vainly would he reach it where he stands. " Oh ! a ladder we must have to reach it.
Could we find -one strong enough and tall." 411 in good faith now the child looks round him,
Sees the ladder resting on the wall : _rustfully his little arms extending,
" Bring the ladder ! " joyfully he cries, — .'Ml his childish fancy bent on climbing
Where the moon is sailing through the skies.
<J>^<'?^
82
" Oh ! a ladder we must hove to S C^,f reach it.
~V
«"^T> \t t ^^^ '" good faitti now the child looks c„ ^'t^'^^f^'^lKl round him,
PVMi#Vvv >^i( Sees the ladder resting on the wall :
i|t;^.
"*' Trustfully his little arms extending,
J " Bring the ladder ! " joyfully he
8)
•r- cnes, —
All his childish fancy bept on
climbing,
y^^ Where toe rucci. ''? sailing through
%%m^^^
■^
The little Maiden and the Stars.
'The child is happy to compare Objects in life of beauty rare With those whom it has held most dear, — It brings a living picture near."
I T evening clear the maiden dear Her gaze to heaven is turning ; She sees two large and brilliant stars,
That side by side are burning. " Father and mother stars ! " she gaily cries ; Speaks the tnother then in accents wise :
"The double stars shine brightly, And well may they delight thee. Tlieir glimmering and shining, Through mazes bright entwining,
A sign may be
Of their love to thee, • Of peace and joy combining. Yet are their pathways crossed I5y the numberless starry host Of lesser lights around ;
84
No. 27.
THE LIGHT BIRD.
Child. (M.M.J =116.)
m
:J{=M=t^
^m
g
^^E
^ — ? — r^ ^ — ^r^
0 birdie dear, 0 birdie dear, 0 birdie on the wall I
V v> ^ 0 birdie dear, 0
m
-M^.
gj^^
-^ N-
;J=
1^
-* — ^
iMfr
i'
p-r
bir - die dear, Hold still now while I call.
Ton must not fly
way
80,
And
tt
^
;^
I
^■^-T-ti
e
g
It:
^
J±zfz=S=i!
:*=it
^ V V
^i^-^
:t^
dance a - boat and play so, 0 birdie dear, 0 birdie dear. Hold still now while 1 call
Mother, (m.m. J = 58.)
^
::5=5==^
S£H:
The Ut
-I — -5 — ^ ^j 1 m^
tie bird
IS
1/ * formed of light, It can - not be held in the
i
I
Jj I 1
^^
S
A-^
^ -7 il
=3=^
^
j 7 ^ lij=il:
fin - gers tight. It flies on the wall jnst to please the sight; It shines to
^
3
4 ->, 4
m
j^^
ZZHI
-0 — J^-^^
the heart de - light So
-#—
give
la
it in
life with full
ma
ny
^
^^i=^
^^
pleasnre. We are not to seize in onr hands the treasnre, It wa-kens a
i
*
^
^
^
I
¥
a-
^
^^
no • bier feel - ing of joy. And both shall be - come then, the gainers there - by.
No. 28.
THE RABBIT.
IM.M.
i
fc
120.)
=5f=?=
H^=N
^^^
^
r
-*i—
See
the rab -bit run - oing, skip - ping! At the wall he stops,
m
r
s
s
i
i<r
3E
be bops.
Chil
dren af - ter bim are trip - ping, I5nt
way
^
?±
37
4
2^
Ufc
3^
4
^
-«^
^
See him point his lit
Ue
ears now, Ev*
ry sound be heeds.
i
-*r — ^
1
5!
h
:*^
.J=^
w
^
:as;
i^
:i2:
s — :jr-
the green grass feeds.
Straight his pret - ty form be rears now, On
Slow. (m.m. ^1=132.)
ii
*i
-V— < — I—
Then
«-r-
?«—
-•-i-
^
be tnmed
7^
bis stoinp
y nose
up,
:it^
^^==H
fi^
i
V 7 ^
With a sud - den spring be rose np,
r-^^r^^ N ^ ■ — "«< -> >
^
-»-^
JJ
ne-
y ^ \^ ^ y '
Down a - gain he quick - ly cow - ers. Hunt - er there in am - bnsb low - ers,
ffiT
^
%
-•^
%
ir
Puffl the rab
bit
IS
dis - gust - ed, Sow the hunt - er brave is worst - ed,
^
S
-•—
^
^
^
-a-»-
u
Bon - nie scam - pers I off he's vanished ! And
my lit
Ue
song
13
finished.
T
The Wolf and Wild Boar.
WILD BOAR.
/^vsrf. \k N the orJv-wood, deep and green I ' ■"*-' Where the beasts of prey are seen, See ! a boar is prowhng round, — To and fro he snuffs the ground. Hunger now begins to teaze him ; Acorns make the food to please him. i Hark ! behind his slender back, \ Something in the woods went crack ! >Jow the hunter comes in sight : The boar has Cjuickly taken flight.
The Window.
' Let not the child an inward feeling cherish, That he within himself one life can be. Only a member of the living whole, A portion of this varied life is he. Let him the inner through the outward see. The far remote that lures his gaze A part in his own being plavs. Inaudible to the outward ear may be Much that in allegory speaks tu thee. Who understands aright this language true, berenely, joyfully may life pursue."
No. 29.
(m.m. J= 144.)
THE WOLF.
^
r
r*
ifi^rt
In the sombre fir - tree wood, Of beasts of prey the wild
a - bode. Lo! a wolf is
:i;
w
-v-g-
J^ZI^
-^—9 ^^
prowling round.
m
i i-i 4
U
^
i^±
■r-t-*
-> — V-
3CHS
'rv
i
i
:^:
^^=
i
To ana fro he snaffs the ground; Hanger presses Mm
W^
sore.
*
:f5:
f
Frails for him are far too dain - ty,
He would have wild game in plen
r
• ly-
i
•i^
w
■<t~r
:&:
iljS:
Starts a - way the woods to scour. Hunter likes it not,— No wonder,— He would have him
i--^ ^t^
-#-r-
"» — a-
^
i
— :; tr
self the plunder ; Hun • ter shoots, the wolf he howls. Off in - to the woods be prowls.
;u
p^.
No. 30.
(M.M. J— 84.)
THE WILD BOAR
feizafc
-* — "-.^
Tra- ru tra-ra tra-ra!
In the oak - wood, deep and f^reen, Where the beasts of
P
-ff-ff-g— *
0 — i — •- «-^* — •-
2=2:
^^
^
£
^
=S— *^
:S
ig * f._fc^
rt
e:*^
See! a boar is prowling round ; To and fro he snaffs the ground;
prey are seen.
i:^
-->-
\
i-t
>:5p^
rr^^^
2f^
;r=*:
"g — #-
St
-• — ^:
1 — * — I —
0*1 yl
■o- -a- ^
Hunger now be - gins to tease him, Acorns make the food to please him, Hark ! behind his slen - der back
103
::^ft
^
V
at
■-N-
^
:at:
J-
I
-•—*/-
3*^^
„ *^B P^__-P i—
■yi^it:
E»
iSomething in tlie woods went crack! crack! Sow
— - JV^^
the bun - ter
comes in
sight,
-v-i
^
H
Toar lias quick - I y
eh-«
;«:
-^ (» ii — a — el
" -J «^*
t;ik - en flight. Tra - ra tra - ra.
tra - ra tra - ra.
^^-
^^^
I
No. 3'i.
THE LITTLE WINDOW.
Oh see the lit
_ ■*■ ^
win - (low bright! It
fills the room with cheer - ful
-?T— *— ^-
X^=^
^— *
—tZ
-• — »-MS — «— 3:
^— ^
-o — d-
-e^^ —
^:
:^1
lii;lit ; It shines all dav, And makes thee gay.
Be like the light, so pnre, so bright.
No. 32.
(M.M.J = 72.) V
THE WINDOW,
it
-& 9-i — m
— I \ B.
sr
'O'
.-o-
-&-
-&-
:4r^-
^
-«l-
E^
-A-
:e-
e:
:V-T^
Through the clie(|uered wiu - dow pane Streams the light of heaven again; bays, "I love to
_ _ _ t^ "^ ^y~ 7 >
be with thee, Dope you fool de - light in me." " Peep I boo peep, boo! Thou love - ly light. Oh
^ N-
-K>
^"i^— U
:«>:
--v
-t -^t* «-
Zi Bl
Much I love thy pn^ence bright." "Child, Tve (inickJy sy»e<l to thee. From the great clear
m
^EJE^
-a-
"°f"-F"
^z^.
-5-^
sun set free; Long the way, yet seemed it short. When of my dear child I thonghL
■• V
-\-
^
Dear
as
sun
light
IS
to
thee,
use.
it not too lav
ish
Iv."
No. 33.
(M.M.J =69.)
THE CHARCOAL BURNER'S HUT.
ESSJ^.
±Lu=i
:P
±^
i
:3^z
^^S
^ - — 0 w ■ — ^
The char - coal burner's hut is small, Will scarcely hold two men in all, Yet
F*!
i
— H 1 f-
r^^^=^
:t^
^
■f--.-
^
3:
313
W "I 1/' k u»- ^
y ^ y ; "7
the char - coal burner and son so good.
in
it there dwell in
cheerful mood,
i
1=
They bring up the wood. To charcoal they bum it. And in - to the wag - on The
^
i
i:
£*
P^*^^=?^^
/ / I- i^,
^
n
smith shall then turn it; How could we our spoons, our knives and
r^8 / / N ,f^^ s
m
*
■^— N
-N— N-
forkstoo, have made. And
ne
^
^.
3&3l^
2i2:
P^
nc
52EE
*
■a — a-
many things else we may dai • ly need,
If the burner,
^
0-'^-
-*:r-»-
with blackened
^^f*^
-5— ^H^-
I:
^
:^— f^
^
f=5!^-J^
-N 1 — ^2 — ^
face
3!^
and hair.
_^N
N » v~
:Si:
i^
-«i — -j 1 — ■»-
i!
1 tf *? g ' g'
Burned not the coal.... with patient care?
If the I
^5
^JHS
tzli
-5-?-^
burner, with blackened face and hair.
I
fc*
^^^
iir
F=^^=^
-^ — N
£3eS
-A-7 —
-»—
s
■n — +c
*?
Burned not the cool with patient care? Come, child, and give the good coal burner greeting. With-
m
i-
s
3^
^
r
^=^
• out thy good spoon there's no pleasure in eat • ing. And though in his face
m
I:
E
te
11
^
tt
We praise his good heart,.... No
may
not be fair,
shad - ow comes there.
The Carpenter.
Wherever the child sees good work done, The mind and heart are easily won. Then through constructive form he passes
From the outward
To the inward, And feels the inner sense and uses."
Sonsc-
UK^
^£<)H, see the carpenter! All day
©i- With curious art he works away:
The high is here brought low;
The long is shorter now ;
The crooked soon comes straight ;
The round he maketh flat;
All smooth he makes the rough :
Is not that skill enough ?
Now all must he combine, All parts together join ; And see what now he shows ! From timbers the house now grows, — . A house for my good child. Where dwell his parents miid. Who night and day attend him. And from all harm defend him.
The carpenter must love the child, The good, protecting house to build.
No. 34.
THE CARPENTER.
i
(m.m. J = 84.)
r
-^
^
-tr—y
N— N-
n
-tr--N-
$
<• <-
X
X
Ch see the car-pen-terl all the day, With curious art he works a- way, The
i
i=i
*=p
U^
-^-^^
j=^--^^v-jJ^ ^1 P
high is here brought low.
7
^£*^J©
^^^'
# »-
a=t
:^
The long is short - er now.
The round he mak- eth
:fc±^
:*=i
; A
flat. The crooked socn comes straight.
4^::
Tt
Jf^
LJ ^
:^=t
All smooth he makes the rough.
Is
:|
i
•rl j"
^^
i^
1=-
"^
-J 0 *-
-«-*^
^=^
not that skill e - nough? Now All he must com- bine, All things to- geth - er
S
hi=^
-W-^
t=^
--^
jom.
And see, what now he shows!
From tho timbers, the timbers the house now
^
^
^
:f^
^4=^
grows!
A house for my good child,
Where dwell his pa - rents mild.
Who
1
i
:^
J^
^
V-
» 7 — «-
night and day at
tend.
&="
him, And from all barm de
fend — him. The
m
tl-i %^
€—7-
^
^
i:
-7—*-
S
car
pen - ter must love the child, The good, pro - tect -
'^ '^
ing house to build.
113
The Little Gardener.
WouLDST (hoii the mind of the child for the
cares of life unfold, Let liim observe the hfe-scenes here unrolled. Wouldst thou for cares of inward life prepare
him Make sweet to him the life-cares that are near
him."
SOHZ.
^iNJOW the garden-beds are blooming, •J-- Water-pot in hand we're coming, All the thirsty plants to sprinkle. AH the buds begin to twinkle, Scatter now their perfume rare. They open their petals one by one, They roll out their cups to the glowing sun, Rewarding all our tender care.
No. 35.
(M. M. J =160.)
THE BRIDGE
child would crosa it,
i-v
? — *-
-±—?-
:i:t=f:
-«-
:f#
heart doth fail; Oh
brighter
^--H
##
the flowers the
oth - er
side
seem, Yet
i
fct
*
?^
E
->-A"
T
::;:?:
finds he no way to get
0 -
ver
the stream.
i
%
'^^
^ K
?^
m
IT
/ -JT -JT TT
In vain his eye
>5-
wanders from
Tt^t
-^—
£
I^*?^
=?=^
^=^
%.-'.'
T— ^
tree - trunk to ledge. Now
Cometh
the car - pen - ter, builds the light bridge, Then
m
h
¥
-\-v-
^
^
%=J^
>. g
:f
ver and back he may
go
cd'
as he will; With praise and with thanks to the
-i
wv=n
^
^
I
^
^
car - pen - lei's skill, With praise and with thanks to
tbe {car -pen- tor's skilL
NO. 36.
(m.m, J=100.)
r-e-ft »> y > — N — ^-
THE BARN-YARD GATE.
i
E
*
^
:^T
■t^-e-t:
3ES^
I
e
E
:#
g—— r
i#
-s— *?-
I
i
Ob! what is this? This is a gate (M.M.J =72.)
-^>-
-^— ^
Leading to the bam -yard straight.
■^.=;g-N-
-^ N-
^^s-:es3
p-
There the po-ny is springing, hop, hop, hi — hi! The dovra are there winging, kurr, kurr, kurr, kurr. The
^^^^
7
^
'0-
;e&>G are all chatt<>ring, Tlio dacks are all quackinf,', Tho chiekpn.s
|iwi)iii;j;, The
F^i:
cock londly crows.
Pip pip,
ki-kc-ri - ki ! Pip, pip,
ki-ke-ri ki!.
m
V
-/ H
? V
Trr
%~j
^r
-ir--\-
-«n—«
i^
"^-r
t> 6»-
-J V
>. ^ ^
^z3^=B:^S=zi
u:
bees are all humming, sum, scin. sum, sum, The mooly cow lowcs, mnh,.
muh,
1/ The
^i^^
-St
;:_s_? o:zai
-H; 1* 1-
r
->-tr
T
m
r-»r-V
-g-v-
1/ 1/ / ^
calf is there playing. The lit - tie lamb straying, Tliero bleat^th the sheep, There grunteth the swine. The
f^^-
(lI.M.
100.)
:^r-
t^
^=i=
-NiTi
^^-
-f-^S
1B — S
^
^Ef:
^-Or±
-^fv^a-H5^-^^-^^-
^^
T
gate close fastened wo most keep., Oh why? Oh why? That none may fly, Each keep to his own quarter nigh.
No. 37 Is spoken. No. 3S. THE LITTLE GARDENER.
(M.M.J =69
Now the gar - den beds
are
-J i; ;/
blooming, Wa
ter- pot
in
hand we're com - ing,
^
-K
-o—
-^r — g-
^=ai!W-
'Z±IJ^
s^
All the thirs - ty plants to sprin - kle,
*
-«»-r-
-^-
r r^^ — « s —
All
N
the bndd be - gin to twin - klo,
perfume rare, They
pen their pet - als
one
-A-
>Tg±
roll
:ic
out their cups
\£ the
12 a ^i-l
._/--
_yr+-^
-»-?■--
tti
3^
glowing sun, lie - ward - inn
.all
our
■^<
by oiii', Thry
11
ten - der
care.
No. 39.
SONG OF PERFUME
(M.M. ^1= 152.)
V— --> r
-N-
t^
-^ J' J' ;g
-^
-A— »r
:!:
5ow my lit - tie rogue may smeU
These sweet flowers he loyes bo well.
J
i
/TN
— X —
^
-^ 1 1 ^ — ■ 1 ^
■^ -r :^ ^■'
Ah I what is it? canst thou tell? So sweet! Where the hidden source may dwell? So sweet?
:!=
:|t
*
^^
5-^
4t-*— ^
S
:^
Yes, an an - gel in the cell, All the cup with sweets doth fill. Says, " though from the
|
^^^=^ |
i |
-t-%- |
._*- |
t |
-Sir^S-^ |
J. |
.... s > |
V— |
1 — ^' — di — |
-i^g |
||
|
lijtrSt |
=5-F?=^ |
t-U— |
-b->- |
__«_ ^ |
t*-- |
-5— »- |
-i- |
— S- |
9 |
-V v: 1 |
child concealed, Sweet perfumes I free- ly yield." "Let me too
the
an - gel gieet.
?J^
Let me smell the perfume sweet, So sweet ! So sweet ! So sweet I
So sweet! So sweet! So sweet!"
No. 40.
(M.M J= 76.)
THE WHEELWRIGHT
^
^
m
^ *.
:^
-• ^
S
Let us to the wheelwright go,
^
Q
• ^-
^
now! see now! see!
^-€-
Watch to see what he will do.
> - ^ {^
^
±
Oh, what pains takes he.
s ^ ^-^
That the auger go straight through,
=7^^
31^1
^
i;^
:t^
C3t
to his mind.
That the
hole
be smooth and true;
Now 'tis read - y
i
m
£3^
■N->r
T=^jF=i
i
To the ax - le may be joined; Round it goes now,
fir=g=fgr=^=^s^
^3=zq
Ev - er round now,
Round
W:
^
^MM
•^ — ^^
^ — a—
now, round now, round now, yes!
%■ 9
t?S:
US
-^
i
:1E
It
go - eth
ev
er
ronnd
r^%'±
a
Round
DOW, round now, round noWt Yes!
It
go
eth
ev
er round.
Kc. 41.
THE JOINER.
;m.m. ,'=108.)
u
tr=^^=^
!]1 M_
-ja-
?^
Tt
Zisch ! zisch I
zisch!
The
join - er planes
to
his
wish!
^^Vt-
^^
Makes the ta
i
^-
^
-0-
ZSl
ble smooth and cool,
Leaves no hole with
in the wood.
|
p^;jz,=^=g=^..az^=^-;. .'^ j- '^^-^=±:: -_^. 1 j- |
|
Ep=;:^^:±fci;gEEri±L-: :33=^tz^3=^-ff-^ — \i^i — ^ |
Zisch! zisch! zisch!
Join
er planes to his wish,
Long, long, long.
Vf
if- \-
'^
:*:
Planing the bench so strong.
Planes un - til — all white it grows,
-/-TFft'-— ^
-At
-f-
?3
-^-.
-*=?»-
SEtz^
-^-^
:^=^=^
H r-
-f * ^
1 l--g i
II
Planes till not a splinter shows. Long, long, long,
Planing the bench so strong.
The Knights and Good Child.
" There lurks within the child a hidden feeling,
That he lives n')t in this life alone.
He fancies forms and voices round him stealing
That are strange and foreij^n to his own. A new degree of life he has begun. The genuine call of life his ear has won. Have care, then, for the little chdd io bright Let him not follow a delusive light, And not entirely in the outward live, But let the inner life its impulse give."
So'ig.
Hp IVE knisfhts I see riding at rapid pace ; "jj> VVitliin tlie court their steps I trace. "What would ye now, fair knights, with me ?' "We wish thy precious child to see: They say he is hke the dove so good, And hke the lamb, of merry mood. Then wilt thou kindly let us meet him, That tenderly our hearts may greet him.'" " Now the precious child behold, — Well he merits love untold." " Child, we give thee greetings rare, This will sweeten mother's care. Worth much love the good child is, Peace and joy are ever his. Now will we no longer tarry, — Joy unto our homes we'll carry."
N0.42. THE KNIGHTS AND THE GOOD CHILD.
(M.M.J =72.)
LMS^t
Nt— +
fv^'^r^
-s^-
1±Z^
?^
^
:t£?3:
^;
-^— -s-
-9-0-
■^«s^
Fiye knights I see rid - ing at rap - id pace, With - in the court their steps I
ivfrpi^i
ITS
-g— ^
^3
J=tS±fcJ|>|=»
trace, "What wouid ye now, fair knights, with me?" "We wish thy prec - ious child to
i
V *:l ^ -^^^
-jL
1^
-at— jT
^
?^
"^^-IP-
-e — •-
see. They say he is like the dove so good, And like the lamb of mer - ry
i
^
^^
:^:2:
Ma
-Nt
'M^-i^
-^"^x
i
:S:.^cS
rrs
r-
mood; Then wilt thou kind - ly let us meet him, That ten-der-ly our hearts may greet him."
^ii^^B^p]
:*r^=*6
?^
32:
1^
^E^
-^—'r
pr^-
^^
^
1=^
El^^
* V ^
"Now the precious child be - hold ! Well ho mer - its love un - told;" "Child, we give thee
I
r=5:
9*-
^3=^
:i:
-0-
9 — J— — •— 5 — •'-
^t^
>^
v---#=
'^
^i
:i==±
=«=^
greetings rare. This will sweet -en moth - er's care I Worth such love the good child is.
-a
-JLZti
^-
±Jii
-^.*-
peace and joy aio ev - er his. Now we will no Ion - ger tarry, Joy un- to our
td^
ts^mm
-^.
N '""■ii^ w ritard.
homes we'll carry; Now wiU we no longer tar- ry, Joy un - to — our homes we'll carry."
No. 43
THE KNIGHTS AND THE ILL-HUMORED CHILD.
(m. M. ,1=72.)
If^
^ ^
:^
'f^j-f-
--rrr^
^T-'l i
i^
I
^=f
M
f
5=fe
■•-•
— m-ai.
-**i5r
Five knights I see rid - ing at rap - id pace, With - in tlw conrt their steps I
t:
i
/r\
=*=^
:H
-^t-^
s
X '
<« — ^
i^
trace, "What would ye now, fair knights with me?" "We msh thy prec ■ ious child to
I
> ^ Z ^ Fg
*i=
-^¥1
^
^
:^^
r
see." "Ahl friend- ly knights, I griere to say, I can - not bring him to you
h-Vk-^^^
f
-4
-^— v
^S
it.
Z^=^=MZ
mo- rose and cross. That all
iT-k^—d-
|5^
to
-day; He cries, is so
too small we find the
feUU-^-l^g
^^
f
^i=^-
:=r=^--:^
4^
i
house;'
'Oh
such tid - ings give os pain, No longer we eing
joy
fnl
r7\
±±:
:fer
#=^
-^r^f-r
5: > I
strain, We'll ride
r*
a - way, we'll rido
:5=qt
a
far, Where
T:-
all.
PJ^
the good lit - tie
i^
I '>WJ
-<r:^-v^
g 7 *
fc±=t
T*^-*
§S:
f
^
-r-4-^E^
chil -dren are, We'll ride a - way, we'll ride a - far. Where all.... the
s
-VniT
^
^
3^33
i^Et
* ■_! — I m-
all the good lit 135
=• — •-
S
r
^
good lit - tie
chil - dren are, Where
• tie chil
dren
1/ are.'
Child, hide Thee I
' The child must soon learn The good to discern ; While the good shalt thou treasure And heighten his pleasure."
5|kI VE knights in full trot are coming hither : '^ They want my child, they would take him thither. Hide thee, child ! oh, hide thee now ! Where thou art must they never know.
Please, fair knights, I pray you.
Trot off and don't delay you.
Is it not now ver\' clear.
That my darling is not here.^ Hop, hop, hop ! hop, hop, hop ! Away now they go, galop, hop ! Now peep out and say good-bye ! Swiftly trot the fine knights away.
No. 44.
(m.m. y=92.)
HIDE THEE, CHILD!
$
s
b ^
Five knights in haste I see coming hither, They want my child, they wonid take him thither I
i
/T\
=»=*
i
a
t
5
^
* ' » X
f
it
?=^
Hide, thee, dar- ling, oh hide thee now. Where then
(M.M.J =138.)
& i S N
art may they nev - er know I
^f=^T=^
4
it
Ewg
fc
£
?:
i=^
:k=t
# — »-
3t
f
7^ ' 'I t-* ^
Please, fair knights, I pray you, Trot off and don't de - lay you I Is
not DOW
y^-i3-r
^^
^
fclci^
#
te^ !« : Ls-
n^^^p^^^^
ver-y clear. That my dar -ling is not here?
flop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop,
i
*
fj^Fg=»:
^
^S^
«:
#
*
^E
-«—
^^
bop hop hop hop hop hop hop, A - way now they go,
^-A-i^
2^:
I
7 / Jl-
;^T
-^^-^-
-•-f-t:
T^
T-»-
fc=P
^
Gal - op, hop, (m.m. J=92.)
gal - op,
-N — ^
=¥=^=^-
\-
' ' b
hop, A -way now they go^ Qalop, hop, galop, bop.
^-
Now peep out and say good-bye!
i
; j^ i-i
©-^
-fis-
^
^
;i^
^^
fc:3:
^*-
-0 — ^ -^ — ^
ly trot the five knights a -way,
Swift
Now peep out and say good - bye!
m
^
i
*^
-g — f"^ — t
i
^^
i
f
Swiftly trot the fi?e knights a • way,
Swift
ly — trot the five knights
way.
Hiding of the Child
What makes my child so glad and gay
While now at "hide-and-seek" we playf
'Tis the sense of personality
That stirs his heart so merrily;
The conscious feeling, "It is II
When one is heard his name to cry,
A new degree in life is gained
When "hide-and-seek" we have attained.
A confidence, a tender trust
Has dawned within the child's young breast.
In after years these shall abide,
And courage give when dangers hide.
Song.
-{fi^HILD of my heart, oh say,
Where have you hidden away? I miss iny darling from my side : Where is he now ? Where can he hide ? I look in vain at every turn, — Oh, he is gone ! gone, gone, gone !
Where my child is, who can tell me ? He with joyous thanks shall fill me. Oh, he is here, this child so dear I Close to my heart I feel him near. So thus in life we often find To what is nearest we are blind.
Ko. 45.
(M.M. J =60.)
HIDE.
i
fe
BES3
s
I
-#-5-
/TV
( M.M. J = 92.)
w
^
:^
Child cf my heart, oh say.
i
I:
^
i
Where do yon hide to-day ?
J-
miss
mj
S
^
i
'^•-
r
dar - ling from my side, Where
i
t:
J
3^
-# *•-
J-
is he now? where can
N S
he hide? I
^S
■y-d-
5=^
^
-•-r-
i^
^^3
^•-
:ook
m
yain at
ev - 'ry
turn,....
Oh be is gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.
[M.M. ^>i=100.)
s
fc
m
^f\
i
:^^
f
t
Where
my child is who can tell me, He with joy - ons thanks shall fill mo. Oh,
i
i:
±
ra
I
^
zS-
^m
1 —
^
^B=5^
^^=^
^
:i=l
ha
ft
IS
tar
here,
i
(^n - do,
I 'v.! * -# — € — «-
it
this child sc dear,
(J=92.)
-a ^ — US ^ Close to my heart I
feel him near.
— N~
="^
&
^^
1^
:r
Close to my heart I feel him near. So thus in life we of - ten find, To
i
*:
^
^
•* N
^=^
te
^
^
what
IS
near
est
we — are blind ;
So
thus
ID
tlfO
we
i
^
^t
Q-JU-iU4::a
f
of
S
ten find.
TV)
what
18
near
we.
are blind.
-itf-
^11
The Toyman and the Maiden.
'Thf. child enjoys the toyman's treasure, And thou with the child hast equal pleasure.'
%0
Song.
"d^^T7AkE me, take me, mother, pray,
b^i To the toyman's shop to-day. Tiny cupboards there we see, Dolhes, such a company ! Tables, chairs, commodes, combine To make the dolly's house so fine. The Christmas sale it is to-day, And everything looks bright and gay ; Oh, let me to the toyman go, And all my pretty things buy new ! " " Well pleased am I to have you go, And see the toyman's pretty show ; Yet, ere we betake us there. Let me whisper in your ear : The daughter that I take with me Ever kind and good must be ; Thoughtful and polite to all. Cheerful too, whate'er befall ; For when she cross and fretful grows, Quickly the mother's eyes shall close To all the pretty things around ; Nothing to buy can then be found. And when the mother sees nothing to buy, Good Santa Claus from the child shall fly."
" Mother dear, come, and you shall see How diligent, kind, polite I will be." " Toyman, tell me what I may choose For the diligent child to use ? "
k'S
The Toyman and Boy.
"^n^ATHER, father dear, I pray, '~^ Take your hat and cane to-day ! Let us to the toyman go. And see his gay and pretty show : Sheep and shepherds, herds of cattle, Horses swift, of fiery mettle ! Father, father, take me pray, To the toyman let's away." " Well pleased am I to have you go To the toyman's merry show ; Yet, ere we betake us there, Let me whisper in your ear : Naught to the father's eyes looks fair If the boy by his side will take no care To obey his wishes, shun what is not good, To be diligent, gentle, of cheerful mood ; And should the father choose nothing to buy. Good Santa Glaus will hasten away."
" Father, oh father, come now I pray ! I will be thoughtful and good to-day."
"Toyman, I hear thou hast for the boys Pretty and useful Christmas toys. Show me, then, from the lovely treasure What to buy for the good boy's pleasure." " Wheelbarrows, handcarts, wagons are mine, Their use with pleasure the boy may combine.
148
He surely wil! feel his courage rise
To see these horses with fiery eyes.
Bows and quivers will give him strength
To bend the bow and speed the shaft. ' ^Tl
I never can tell you the whole of my stock,
You yourself may choose as you look."
" Then, toyman, when Santa Claus comes by, Tell him Adolphus was here to-day ; He the pretty things may choose, Both for enjoyment and to use. When a good and willing boy he is, His wishes and hints we are glad to please."
^^p^^^s^^.^^
*^^> '-
The Church Door and Window.
"When all things blend in harmony divine.
Which speaks alike in color and in form,
The child must feel it round his heart entwine.
And his whole being bends in reverence warm.
Then lead the child above all else to feel
That all in highest aspiration must unite.
Far easier then it seems may'st thou reveal
The pathways that to highest joys invite ;
And when life's highest has to him been given,
He feels it a protecting power from Heaven,
Nor think then that the child too little is.
Within the youngest heart a magnet lies
That draws him ever into sweet accord ;
But discord draws around the gathering cloud.
Would'st thou with the child maintain a union true.
Let the light of unity in all thy deeds shine through."
'S'TPHE light within the window gleams °^^ All through the little church it streams. Behold the door is open now, That all within the church may go ; And every one who enters there To be attentive must prepare.
tf^/fa
-i^\
.^-
^1
-C^'
150
^1'- 1 \ '-^
No. 46.
THE CUCKOO.
(m.m. J = 80.
SEj^
EMzSz^
^^g-
-«— «^
*:
liz—t
=S=«=
liiij:
Coo, <'oo, Coo coo, Coo
coo,
Tho cue - koo now
1/ is
-V-iir
-9—
T— •-
-#— »f-
calJ - ing; Coo
|
hfO-zg j^7 g-t^^^->-]-g-g-r-^zs-s-4->^-3^, .-^ >^-i^jU-:—A |
|
fi^ ^ -^ g g 7 1 — g-^.-4- '^ ^ > L ! ! . -;— M=^--^- -.;=^=¥=^= |
coo,
Coo coo, Coo coo !
His note on the ear
IS
fall - ing. Coo coo, Coo coo. Coo
|
Llj '-' '' '-^-^-i-^- P l\ J . i-H. 1 /-r .—,--,-^-±^,-4^^fJ=n |
|
-§^-i-^-«— p-*-*— i— s-i-S^«— S-j-fjiJ — * 7 ; " f J — S-j^S— t-if-s |
COO, yes, yes! The lit - tie bird is all alone, Coo coo, Coo coo. Coo coo, yes, yes. But
*
8=1-
S=iEE3=^53^
^— >r-
^dt
T-A"
t
S:
J±
-V— V-
now
un - to my child has flown. Coo coo. Coo coo, Coo coo. Oh, now has my child
the
i
*
A.
P
s
t
cue
koo spied, How sweet with the
cue
koo the mo - ments sjlide ; Coo
-X!—»-
^?— 2
I
:S:
=¥=P=
coo,
Coo 000,
be
lov
ed child,
Coo
1^ coo,
Coo
coo,
my child I
Nos. 47 & 48 Are spoken.
No. 49. THE CHURCH WINDOW AND CHURCH DOOR.
(m.m. y= 104.)
I
fc
'^ ;t jjW l-!i^ i
'-^
r
■^
-tS-
Tan light with - in
the win
r
dow gleams,
All through the
lit - Ue
i
t
±
s
^
Be • hold
church
it streams.
the 153
door.
is
- pen now,
That
-o-
4=:^-^
~ffl=5^
all will) - in.
. thT
- -0-.-
x=^-
-.i>-
-Si-
^:g:— nVg^
-S^.-
?
cliurcli may go. And ev - ry ono who en - ters there To
w
le:
-77 1-
be
m
at
ten
tive must
m^0^^^^^^
:5=±^
Vt — !-
^
-#-^ ^ "''^ g-
^
=8=
pre - pare.
Now hearken
while the or<?an's
j^=5-.-
rf-f ^ J.
r
tone, Throngh solemn aisles is bomo a - long, La,
lo,
:g:
<7\ -
« x> i z.
-a ^ tf-
i
r- — H
:g=*
^=«--
4=-
^
t-
-ss-
lo la la In lo
*=^^ -ff- -25-
4:^=^:
la, lo, la, lo
lo lo
lo
IJ^IZg
g=2i;:r
-(S*-
:^
-•-X- tSi;
-e . ^
i-T=x^
SEIirf^
0 — ^
lo.
And the bell np - on — the tower
Calls in
4=]
:|:
-^ — o-
1 1^-^
love - ly
-M-
122:
%
:azi
—O-
r
3=
-iifi-
-O-
^
m
tones the hour,.,
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No. 50 Is spoken.
The Little Artist
Slight is the skill thy child may show,
Almost nothing to thee; But from the little much may grow,
Though that little least may be. Whatever we see around us here.
Although immeasurably great, Began within the smallest sphere.
All share an equal fate. Rushing streams that deafen the ear
In rivulets had their source ; And the great sun, with rays so clear.
In dawn began his humble course. God said, unto the least be true ;
May not this law the child pursue ? Then make it the law of thy life and will To unfold his mind in its simple skill.
Song.
tET me now thy finger take, ^'j^xf^ .'^nd pretty pictures we will make.
Here are little birds that fly >t>t-
Over this little hill so high ; >,«%^
Here upon this little tree ^
Hangs a little plum for thee; .^
On this slender branch at rest y
The bird has built his little nest ; Y
All about this little house ^
Runs and nibbles this little mouse; $3,
Up these little steps we go, rH
Can peep out of the window now ; rp]
On the roof we see the tile pi
And mirrors hang upon the wall ; ^
Within the room a table high cp
On it this great fish doth lie -c^s^
This slender bridge rnay carrv us
The little sparkling brook across -^^_^
Here a ladder tall appears. ti
Here we see the tailor's shears, o;,^
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Here the i)ij^con-honse so high,. . In and out the jiigeons fly.
Here the showy rooster crows %^
Here the hide nihhit goes ^§
Now we see the hare that shows. . k\
Such a little stumpy nose ^
This the saw both sharp and long, j }
Here we have tlie harrow strong ; . . >>^^
Thus we make the busy plough "^
The servant's jiitcher now we siiow. o=l
The wagon that shall carry mm
A party blitiie and merry.
The wagon-wheel we have, ^
With felloes, spokes and nave.
Here the sun is beaming .„
With dazzling rays outstreaming ;
And this is our beloved star >f(.
That sends its splendor from afar.
This is the eye so bright '^
Here shine the stars by night : . . . . *,»,*
And in the starry snow •'•
Tliese flower-forms we know ■;§■ ■4-*
'I'his is the moon that sluncs by night, .'\nd makes the laborer's task more light, O And by her form is tokl
If she be young or old O ) © 3
And here we come to the. last, and draw The good familiar little church door. . . fl
Yet here we need not end ; long will it take
To mention everything my child can make.
The things themselves in time must disappear,
But the creative power remains for- ever here.
When the child then casts his eyes
around, And sees how vast the field he may
command, Should he the artist's call through life
pursue, .•\ world awaits him ever rich and new.
CONCLUSION.
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1st ALTO.
Sd ALTO.
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TO MOTHERS.
oM«o
EXPLANATION OF THE PLATES.
I. — THE MOTHER AND CHILD.
A MOTHER, penetrated by the dignity and importance of her position, and her true, loving heart filled with the high significance of the call, " Come, let us with our children live," is surrounded by her children, and endeav- ors to develop, through song, the thoughtfulness and the versatile life-harmonies of their natures.
Other children are attracted by this, and join the gay, peaceful circle. They approach with modest diffidence, doubtful as to their welcome into the lovely garland. For a harmonious life-development is the vivifying spirit which reigns there, awakening instinctive reverence which is expressed in a certain shyness.
To perceive this spirit of harmonious life, fosters its existence, and guards its possession, impelling the little girl to thoughtful care of growing things. A hly, the flower of childhood and image of its innocence, is what she prefers to water and take care of. A similar animating spirit of harmony moves the vigorous boy to the consider- ation of active life. The bird's nest, for instance, with the unfolding strength within it that enables the little birds to rise so high on airy wing, — this chains his attention, his wonder.
What boy and girl play in earliest childhood, cherished by their loving mother's caresses, will become, by and by, a beautiful reality of serious life ; for in this first step they have expanded into stronger and lovelier youthfulness, seeking on every side appropriate objects to vivify the thoughts of their inmost souls. The svi^eet fragrance of the lily stills the yearning of the boy's heart, as its delicate yet strong form does that of the girl's. The little girl, blooming into womanhood, rests secure in her own har- moniously developing soul, as she securely stands, poised on the ball so easily turned ; the boy, growing up towards manhood, stands firmly, in a thoughtful spirit, striving for clearriess, on the cube which makes known to him its simple laws.
Under such conditions as are here given, innocence and gayety, love and peace, bloom unremarked from the lily that has been nursed by the child, and struggle toward
their high fountain, — the sun, — through the stalk that bears the blossoms.
Nature, in her daily and nightly phenomena, pours her blessings on such work and such care : the sun by day, as Ariadne's crown ' by night, sends down its rays upon all mothers, and awakens in each womanly soul the per- ception of the truth, that " only you who are thoughtful and educated can make children happy." The angels and dwellers in the heavens send their messengers to carry the bough of peace as a reward to such pure, hu- mane, child-fostering, motherly life ; God's Spirit stoops, like a dove from heaven, to give the highest sanction to the mother's earnest, thoughtful work ; and from the clouds sounds a voice, saying, " This is that nurture of my chil- dren in the garden of life with which I am well pleased."
II.
Absorbed in contemplation of your child, and inspired by the feeling that it is sent to you by the Father of all beings, as a revelation of his own nature, and is therefore at one with him, and that it is intrusted to you for thought- ful, careful nurture, — regard it, O happy mother! as an immediate gift from God.
You are filled with the joyful anticipation that this child's nature, so rich in manifoldness, in individuality and peculiarity, — the reflection of your own nature, — is to be developed by your educating care.
As you observe manifoldness, diversity, and contrast, more and more displaying themselves in the nature of your child, your heart will be filled with silent pleasure, foreboding that these qualities will reveal themselves in finer forms as life goes on. You are certain, that, like the most heterogeneous appearances of the outer world, the> will, in the clear light of your mind, be resolved into har- mony and clearness of life, as in a clear sea of peace.
The outward manifestation of diversity and contrast in the soui of your child will be clearly shown as ele-
^ See Sunday paper edited by Friedrich Froebel, vol. i. lo, 13, p. Ariadne and Herder's Ariadne.
IbS
merits of the full harmony of his life. You see how the movements and use of his limbs, the activity of his body and senses, seem to engross him ; and you will see how to seize, prove, and understand the life of the ciiild as one, in all its manifoldness, and through all its apparent diversity and contrasts ; and lunv he will feel and show his individuality, as he takes what is without into himself, to assimilate and give it out again, like a healthy tree, which draws into itself the diverse elements of nature, — the materials of the earth, — works them up into its own being, accoriling to its own laws, and gives them out again in leaves, sap, and fruit. In this presentiment of harmony (the inner unity of all beings) which so gladly and decid- edly speaks out in all the expressions of your child, his nature is made manifest to you as a spiritual unity.
The oneness of nature, life, soul, spirit; of presenti- ment, feeling, perception, consciousness ; the multiplicity and contrast of the various indications of life brought out by the right comprehension and management of the child, so that all within and around him shall be in united bal- ance,-— -yes, in beautiful harmony, — it is iJiis, O thought- ful, careful mother ! which, as well as the clearer reflection of your own being and life, so greatly delights you in your child.
So, in the watching, nurturing care, in the strengthen- ing and development of your child, in all the indications of hi^ life, this clear conviction will come to you, that the child dimly foresees, not only the unity of all things, whicli he undoubtedly feels in himself but presentiments develop themselves in him that carry him on to define the idea tliat all things have their source in one fountain of life, which he ]xrceives in himself; as you, O pure, believing mother ! clearly recognize that your child's nature, like your own, is godlike, — a spark from God. For every existence and life is but a iiroclamation that God lives in it.
Therefore, loving mother, the gi'eatest problem and juy of your life is to feel yourself one with your child as with God ; your child one in itself and also in active relations with the outer world, with mankind, and with nature ; above all, as in unity with God, the Source and Father of all things,' — -as a child of (lod, and to be brought up as such.
Do you ask. How and through what is all this shown? the answer is written on your heart, and unconsciously and artlessly expresses itself in all your simple, motherly ways. It is shown us by the manifoldness and the wholeness of the c^hikl's body, — his limbs and senses, his inclinations and observations, his motions and struggles, by his upward reaching towards consciousness of himself anil the per- sonal relations to yourself and others, which he already begins to distinguish, and which touch his inner life, by the perce]5tions of his just-awakening sjiirit.
All this you yourself know and say and teel, that your
child must be cherished, governed, and trained to be tnie to the laws of his own nature and of all life. His body links him with the material earth, his limbs unite it with the outer world by ever new relations with it, as his senses with the one harmonious working world of thought. Its dawning consciousness of self, its upward-reaching pre- sentiments and awakening spirit, unite him with all which appears and makes itself known as life. He does not combine with them at first, but shows himself already in inner union with the whole world of life, as well as with the spirit world. To comprehend your child, O faithful mother ! to understand his nature, and the corres]jonding phenomena of that nature in this primitive and indissoluble union, in his self-dejjendence and spontaneity ; to form, to cherish, to develop, to cultivate him according to all the governing laws and claims of his being, — this will solve the problem of the education of your child, nothing less.
" But what now are the phenomena in which your child's nature expresses itself in diversity and opposition, as well as in harmony? " They are those which are uni- versal, wherever life expresses itself in form, whether in the animate or inanimate world, those phenomena which manifest themselves in the vegetable and animal king- doms, as well as in the life of mankind.
As we see the corn in the seed, the fledged bird in the egg, so in the feeling we must look for the thought : cer- tainty is eventually evolved from uncertainty. And so, mother, do the first manifestations of your child's life reveal themselves to you ; in this uncertainty, which is the husk of life, the fulness of life lies, and reveals itself; )'ou see it in the swelling l)uds and the growing fawns. As the fulness of life now so greaUy delights you in your child, so you must awaken in him a susceptibility to the versatility of all whii h life gives and draws out ; so the tenderest jjlants and youngest fawns are drawn out by the gradual influence of light and warmth, and the most deli- cate impressions of their surroundings. Furthermore, a versatile excitability antl sensibility are analogous to in- ward susceptibility, as in nature the tenderest buds and youngest fawns are stirred by the slightest change of con- dition, and attracted by the softest touch.
By and in this susceptibility and excitability of the child, often bringing with it pain and trouble to the child itself as well as to those who surround him (especially to you, faithful, anxious mother) we yet see him develop his true nature, distinguishing with facility what is suited to it, as each little plant and each young animal selects from the ])henomena of nature that which is most conformable to itself
But above all is the child impelled toward a more natural and free development of his being, which makes itself known in all the phenomena of life, in a general universal activity, as well as in the individual activity of
■50
his senses, limbs, and body ; and whicli, in spite of the Durity of tlie inmost source, causes so much misunder- standing and trouble, pain and danger, in life.
Thus rising from the strengthening and developing of tlie body, limbs, and senses, to their uses ; from the im- pression to the perception of things ; from perception to obser\'ation and contemplation ; from acquaintance with individuality and knowledge thereof to a recognition of mutuality ; from the healthy life of the body, senses, and limbs, to the healthy life of the spirit; from action united with thought to the pure thought ; from healthy, strong sensation, to the thinking mind ; from the outer concep- tion to the inner comprehension ; from the outward grouping to the inward comparison and judgment ; from the outward combination to the inward inference ; thus rising from the outward understanding to the inward com- prehension, to the development and cultivation of the intellect ; from the outward a]3prehension of phenomena to the inner examination of their foundation and cause, to the development and cultivation of the life-grasping reason ; the clear image of the individuality of each na- ture will appear, at a later period to the child, in further- ance of the education of his mind and soul ; and he shall finally recognize first himself, and tlien the whole of which he is a part, — as one idea.
So you lead your child from the thing to the picture, from the picture to the symbol, from the symbol to a grasping of the nature of the thing as a spiritual whole ; so are developed the ideas of individuality and whole- ness. At a later period, in the -gradual progress of his education and cultivation, your child will see clearly within his own soul, that his life is a part of all life, of the life of his family, of his nation, and of all mankind ; and that God exists, lives, and works in all and through all. To e.\hibit, then, this fulness of life, which is so clearly formed within him, in all his feelings and thoughts, his deeds and relations outside of himself, in action and form, is from this time his own life-problem ; and so he will learn that presentiment, life, and nature are united, as phenomena, knowledge, and revelation. Life will be to him revelation of ths unity of nature and mankind, and thus of the oneness of Clod : it will be, therefore, a life of peace, of joy. And that aspiration for your child, O dear mother, which you felt before his birth, and which you have cherished in your heart and life, will be fulfilled.
III.— GLANCE AT THE MOTHER ABSORBED IN THE CONTEMPLATION OF HER CHILD.
What shines and warms and glows through your whole being, like a soft flame, dear mother, when you gaze at your sleeping darling? What gives to the least help which you afibrd him such significance and importance as teaches you to execute with the greatest care even the
most unpleasant tasks, from the very thought of which the girl turns away ? What gives you consideration, per- severance, courage, self-sacrifice, and peace, even in those phenomena of your child's life which are brought out by pain and sorrow ? It is that you see . the smallest thing (whether it relates to order, cleanliness, food, or whatevei it may be) in its coherence, its union with the great life of the whole, and also in its re-actions from the same : it is that you survey, though in the dimmest anticipation, the life of your child as a whole, in which each individual thing, however small, shows itself as progressive develop- ment. It is that you already see the artistic in the pres- ent activity. It is the anticipation and perception, the comprehension and conteriiplation, of life as a whole, in which each individual thing will be recognized in its right place and in its true signification, that gives to your life and work all the above-mentioned high qualities. Thus you see and recognize in this, and through your own life and mind, knowledge and work, that if you would have your beloved child achieve his destiny and fulfil his voca- tion for artistic life and work, as you fulfil your womanly destiny and motherly vocation, appreciating and recog- nizing the small, victorious over the disagreeable, with consideration, perseverance, and courage, you must not only from the very first feel your child's life as a whole, in which the smallest thing has its signification and its progressively developing importance ; but you must also perceive and recognize it and hold fast to it in the inner life of the little one, as well as through his external actions. Then will your child's life show, in each of its steps and in the wholeness of its development, all the glorious attributes that human life makes known to us all. And, mother, we must consider th.r.t our own life shows something wanting, because we, alas ! too early, departed from that nobleness of heart and soul, which embraces the smallest things, and makes the coherence of life ; and therefore did not attain to the recognition and clear per- ception, still less to the firm holding on to the same, until, perhaps, quite late in life, when the most beautiful and richest opportunities of our lives, and their loveliest phe- nomena, were gone forever. But what phenomenon is dearer and more important to us, on what do we rest more peacefully, and what does art unweariedly bring anew before us in the most individual point of view in the picture? Art brings childhood; the motheriiness and the childlikeness of the baby-time of our life into most intimate union and mutual penetration. But it brings only one form before us, though it presents an ideal perception of it. But where are the hundreds and hundreds of forms with which mother-love has fostered and developed our life? They are lost from sight in the sea of the past, and yet are the waves which shall some time bring us and our life-ship safely to harbor. This truth should be recognized and held fast.
IGl
These mother and play songs themselves, and, above all, the marginal jjictures, furnish a small and imperfect beginning, not only suggesting that the baby life of the child is the true ijudding-time, the first period of devel- opment of the whole artistic life of mankind ; but it is also a beginning to the common knowledge, true per- ception, and deep recognition of all which you, O mother ! have done for your darling ; and also of the opinions, the views, the aim, and, in general, the spirit in which you have worked. Take the book, and hold it, mother ; be kind and indulgent ; do not dwell too scrutinizingly on the art of the representation. This is the first attem]3t for such an object, and with such a spirit : it must needs be imperfect ; yet it may e.\])lain to you what hitherto you have instinctively practised in anticipation of your high vocation, but more from a loving feeling than with in- sight and perception, and therefore often irresolutely and with many mistakes. If through all this you have attained to humble self-knowledge, then you will easily overlook the imperfection of this first attempt. Children do so already, in and for themselves ; and as these songs and i)lays clearly show you the ]5resent, and give you an intuitive perception of the future, so shall they form for your dear little one (in its next year, when it has ad- vanced from the object to its representation, in fact, already perceives the symbol in it) a picture-book held in your hand, vivified by your speech, warmed by your heart, which shall bring back to the child the short past of its little life, its first and earliest childhood, to be held fast, not perhaps merely as an external foundation, but as the germ of its whole future artistic life.
For, what the mother arouses and fosters. With her first thoughtful play and song,
That which her love protectingly cherishes. Works with blessing on and on.
Is not this also the case with the feelings which your first-born child and each child in succession has aroused in you, as you gazed upon it in its first soft manifestations of life on your lap and in your arms? .Are not these feelings, which guided you gently yet urgently to the api)reciating and loving fostering of your child (for its own welfare as well as for your own peace and restfiil- ness), worth the repetition of this most delicate consid- eration and care? Do not these feelings promote this repetition? Should fFiey be overlooked? Were it not for the feeling of inexpressible happiness, were it not for the sense of blessedness whicli flowed through you, and brought you to a higher condition of existence, likewise, how could your coimtenance have drawn out the expres- sion of a higher inward perfection, — a heavenly mildness and clearness? Who that saw you could escape this con- viction ? How could yoin- consciousness of having given life and existence to a child, and your intelligent gaze at
it, have that effect? It was the anticipaticn of an im- speakable blessing given at the same time with human existence and life.
But, O mother ! is it not also true that the care for the preservation of the external life of this gift from Cod soon throws the higher feelings and recognition more and more into the background ; indeed, only too often causes them finally to vanish ? But must it indeed be so ? Are not these feelings a sweet reward for the ineffable throes and keen suffering which gave earthly existence to the heavenly gift ; the spirit's grasp of that highest motherly fostering, which shall later follow your child through its whole life, at least, through its whole educational life, till the time of independent maturity? I believe the latter. Let me bring before you what I mean, in a true and veritable picture of an actual fact in life.
When I v/as a boy with awakening tl-.oughts of nature, I discovered, under the hedge of white roses in my father's garden, a little, almost imjierceptible rosy flower, with five petals and five golden points in its midst. It was a simple wild flower ; and a hundred much finer flowers stood around in the garden, tended by my father's carefiil hand, while this was only allowed to bloom un- cared for in an obscure place. Yet it was just this flower which, more than all others, attracted my attention ; for when I looked into its crown and between its golden .stars, I believed that I gazed into an endless depth. Through months and years at its time of blossoming, for hours have I gazed into it. It seemed always to wish to say something to me, and yet I could understand noth- ing : therefore I thought that I must necessarily discover something in the flower by and by, if I did not weary of looking into it.
With such love, such longing, such anticipation, dear mother, I think you look into the soulful countenance, into the clear light of the eyes of the child, unfolding like a flower before you : you also would discover some- thing, in truth a heaven, in the child's starry eyes. My gaze at the flower resembles your gaze at the child ; and so I think I understand yon, and you, me. We under- .stand each other directly, through our gaze at our dar- lings.
The boy wandered from his father's house, left the lovely garden, and the wild flower was forgotten. Only think of his joy when the youth, now more intimate with nature, found his flower again I He found it in company with the hazel-hush, whose flovvers, not less significant, also burst forth in early spring ; and with the same fer- vent love as of old, yes, wth the same longing, he gazed into it again. And now it uttered its speech, — now it taught him to anticipate the mystery of existence, and the development of mysterious laws ; but it also vanished again in the life-stream which .absorbs all things.
Yet it was not gone forever. When t oecame a nun,
conscious of working out my vocation, the flower met me again. Wliat it had showed me in anticipation, I had now found in the trees which last ten, a hundred, yes, a thousand years, — a symbol of the recognition of good and bad, right and v\Tong, the actual and apparent. Now, after fifty years, it is clear to me, why, as a thoughtful boy, I gazed so longingly into the depths of the flower. The genius of life allowed me to contemplate- therein, in anticipation, the depths of life, its laws and signification.
What I saw here symbolically, dear mother, your eyes contemplate in reality, in your dear child. Shall fifty more years go by you, as they did by me, before you ex- plain clearly to yourself what the child's life tells you about itself and about life in general? Then, when life is almost past, will the recognition of the truth be of so much use to you or your child ? What does the yearning gaze into the star-like flower and into the child's eyes teach? " Whatever unfolds itself, whether flower, tree, or man, is given as a condition in the coUectiveness of its existence ; and that he is to be a full, perfected man, is as manifest in the first appearance and in the first glance of the child, as the perfected flower and tree is manifest in the first appearance of the flower and tree."
In short, the transfiguring gaze at your child, O mother ! is caused by your anticipation and desire to find within him the whole human nature, a nature destined for com- pletion and perfection. But what is this abstract human nature, which, unencumbered and unabridged, clearly shows itself in your child? Your child, just because he is yours, that is, a human child, is destined to live in the past and future, as well as in the present. He brings into existence with himself a heaven of the past ; he may give through his manifestations a heaven in the present.
and disclose in himself the heaven of the future. The threefold heaven which you carry in yourself beams also towards you from your little child.
The animal lives only in the present : it knows neither the past nor the future in their extension. But Hope dis- closes the view of the future, the heaven of the future ; Love opens the iieaven of the present, the feeling of the inner, united existence of all life, sorrow as well as joy ; and Faith lifts up her gaze from the past. For what mind would not be filled with the firmest faith, the most divine faith in all goodness, truth, holiness, manlikeness, and Godlikeness, when it looks with thoughtful and clear eyes into all the past? And where is the man, in whose spirit such looking into the facts of the past, would not become the " believing which is sight," the perception of the truth ? And is it not the spirit of truth which guides the true life ?
These union points of our highest and holiest human life, present, past, and future ; these three genii of human life, faith, love, and hope, pour their beams upon you already, O mother ! from your child's innocent face. It is the anticipation that the highest possibilities of mankind are already contained in your child, which so glorifies your nature in the contemplation of your first-born, and of each of your new-born children. Foster this thought, O mother ! for by it you will unite your child's existence with the oneness of all life ; the threefold nature of the little one with the foundation of all light, all love, and all life, — God.
And so in faith, in love, in hope, Your child sees heaven already ope ; And God, the life, the light, the love, Shall fit its soul for heaven above.
EXPLANATIONS OF THE MARGINAL PICTURES OF THE
PLAY-SONGS.
PLAY OF THE LIMBS.
Life, thoughtful, tender mother, is the central point of all your feelings, your sensations, your thoughts ; life is the focus, and point of reference, of all your working, acting, and doing ; and therefore each and every mani- festation of life in your beloved child suggests to you and arouses in you the feeling and working, the thinking and doing, which make inward harmony. Nothing therefore gives you more pleasure than to observe and consider the serene and powerful manifestations of life in your child, as soon as they begin ; and when they so attract you, if you are not deterred by prejudice, custom, and error, you will feel yourself summoned to foster and guard the self-
ruling principle of your child, thereby to strengthen, develop, exercise, and cultivate it, and so to lead him to self-culture, first of all.
Your child lies on the clean pillow before you, in the strength-giving air-bath, after a bath of pure water has already strengthened him ; feeling strongly the health of his whole body, he lies, and beats the air with his arms, and kicks with his legs. You feel that he seeks an object, by means of which he may measure his strength, so that stretching out his legs he may enjoy the use of them. Your mother-love goes out to foster the needs and wishes which are shown by the child's actions : your hands or breast, against which, by turns, he presses his litde legs, and toward which he stretches and kicks, will serve to
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measure and thus to increase the streiiLjth of liis limbs. Obey the law of motion which is sliown in his opening strength, and you will th\is foster not only the outward corporeal life of your child, but also his inner life, the life of his feelings, sensations, and soul ; not only shall he gain his bodily strength through yours, I)ut he shall also feel your love, the thoughtfulness with which you do all this, and which gives to your deeds and words their melodious tone. As his awakening and increasing strength is the oil which feeds the flame of your love, you would like your child to feel this truth, and by and by to express it. In the illustrative picture (Plate VII.), the litde night- lam]!, which you used during the nights when you ke]jt a loving watch over your child, stands by you, and may be used as a symbol and image of this truth. A proper use of strength has extracted from some one of the oil-giving ])lants (the rape, the flax, the poppy, or whatever else is used in different countries), the oil which supplies the watcher's lam]) ; and so, by and by, you will teach )-our child that your mother-love shone forth to foster his strength and jiowers for a harmonious development. The pictured oil-mill to the left, near which, in a safe place, the flax and pcij])y have found room to strike their roots into the groimd and to grow, will (until you find the opportunity to look with your child at such a mill in reality) give some idea of the mill which presses the oil out of the poppy-seed.
What the' boy and girl see, each imitates in its own way. A mother takes her litde flock into the neighboring val- ley, that they may perceive and feel the loving, all-working power in nature, though they do not as yet understand it. The boy has sought a place for his toy-mill up there by the stream, so that, impelled by the water, its wheel may move more quickly. His younger brother sits by, look- ing on with wide-open eyes, shading his face from the blinding sun. that it may not hinder him from seeing and admiring his brother's work. His elder sister, going more directly to her object, wades with bare feet in the clear l)rook, in wliich she tries to press the fine sand into a dyke. Filled with love, the mother sits, thinking how differently the children's characters manifest themselves, though occupied with the same thing, and to the same end. Mirrored in their childish play, she sees the future life of the three children, now so intent on binding the power of the water. The oldest, she foresees, will at some time employ the strength of his life-power which he is just beginning to use to attain his ends. The litde gid through her own life and action will reach direcdy her goal, holding it fast in her own mind, and devoting to it all her strength. The younger boy will reach his aim by seeking to investigate the nature of power, and the laws of nature's working. Kach of her i)laying children shows in the present a rich life within ; but the mother Lves in the ])reseut and the future, as well as in tlie past.
For to the question, "Where are you going?" the poor woman going by with her basket, who is already partly uj) the hill, has answered, '• Up to the rich miller, to see if I can get some oil in exchange for what I bring him ; for my child is so sick that I must watch with it all night. Besides I need bread, for I c;an now earn nothing, and the poor child also must eat." This answer reminds the mother of the play of the kicking limbs; and looking at her children, and thinking of them, she asks, " Will their future life reward with gratitude their mother's love?"
AH I THERE FALL.S MY BAEY DOWN. A Play for S/rfiiiff/iening the Whole Body.
It is often seen in life, that what is near is overlooked ; thus it might be with this little song, and it might be asked, why it has a place in a picture-book when it can- not be represented by a marginal picture. And yet this little song and body-play coukl not well be left out ; and therefore it appears without a marginal picture. It ex- plains itself to you, thoughtful mother, through itself, and through the motto, as well as it points out the manner of playing it.
I see you, dear mother, as you stand before the table on which a pillow lies flat, or in front of the crib of your darhng, who, half- sitting, half-lying, leans his fat little back against the hollowed hands which hold him a litUe raised above the pillow or crib ; then you let your hands drop on the pillow softly, yet so as to give the body a slight jar. Or the child lies on a cushion or thick quilt before you, and you grasp both his litde hands or arms, and raise softly the upper part of his body, so that lie remains in a sitting posture. Now gently drop his hands or arms, and he will fall back, e.xperiencing through his whole body a gentle shaking.
This falling backward, thus protected by your care and love, enhances the child's strength, and gives him the per- ception of strength ; but you will have, anxious mother, ojiportunities enough in your later life to make your grow- ing child perceive and feel that slipping without such loving care may lead to a bad fall. Yonder glides the child on its sled over the snow : he has not yet the eye and strength to guide the sled, and, see, he falls ; for- timately he has hurt his leg but little, " Learn how to use your eye, my child, and increase your strength, and you may skilfully avoid a fall." Yonder the boy slides on the ice : he looks round carelessly, and lets his feet and legs go where they will ; he falls, and fortunately his hand is only a litde hurt. His pain says to him, " Look more carefiilly, my boy : control the motions of your feet and legs, that you may not again fall down." Oh ! the little girl has dropped the smooth plate, and the litde boy the bright, clear glass, though both the children were carrying the things so carefully, and did not let their eyes wander
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from them. Tlieir hands and fingers were not strong enough. "Steadiness and skilful carrying, if accompa- nied by feebleness and weakness, cannot prevent a fall." Make a word-picture, mo'dier, from life, when you would teach your child, and you will not regret that an engraved picture is not here ; but, on the contrary', will secure a lifelong fruit of this play for your child.
THE WEATHERCOCK OR VANE.
A Play for the Exercise of the yoiiils of the Hand and Elboiv.
The fore-arm of the child is placed as nearly as possi- ble in a perpendicular position ; the hand is spread out in the same direction, so that the four fingers represent the tail, the flat hand the bod)', and the thumb the head and neck, of the cock. In this position, let yjur child's hand move now hither, now thither.
" This play is so very simple, too simple ! " And yet it pleases the child : the repetition of it always delights, and will amuse him for a long time. Your child cannot yet speak ; but only see with what pleasure and earnestness he moves his little hand when you say to him, " Show how the weathercock turns" (in many places called a vane), or, " Show the weathercock." ^Vhat lies at the bottom of all this? Have you not observed, when you move an object before your child at a little distance, that to dis- cover the moving cause, gives him more pleasure than to look at the moving object itself? It is the same thing here, the feeling and controlling of the principle of a result, the cause cf an effect : it is this which makes the child so pleased and earnest. And see ! he already shows a perception of what is founded on fact : that in the mov- ing object is a moving cause, a moving power ; and the child soon comes to the conclusion that beneath all liv- ing, moving objects lies a living, moving, animating power.
On a somewhat windy, almost stormy day, go with your chikhen to the terrace in front of your house ; for where will not the children love to go with theii- loving, self- sacrificing inother?
Hark ! how the cock creaks on the steeple ! The wind is moving its tail now here, now there. Here comes a hen escorted by her proud cock ; but they are not entirely subject to the wind like the weathercock, so their tails are not blown about so much. But hear how the wind rustles among the clothes that are hanging out to dry : they appear to tell tales of the strong wind. How the child enjoys that rustling and chattering ! The boy, who has brought a towel from the bath which the wind pre- vented him from taking, ties it to a long stick, and waves and shakes it in the air. The little girl's handkerchief and outstretched ami give her equal pleasure. Another boy finds more enjoyment in his kite, which he tries to raise up high that it may get more wind. " Clap, clap, clap, sounds yonder: what is it?" The wind is blowing
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the sails of the windmill swiftly round, and makes the clappers beat fast, " clap, clap, clap." And what do the large ever do, that the small do not try to imitate? (.And therefore be careful what you, a grown-up person, do in the sight of the little ones.) Akeady a boy comes run- ning with his paper windmill : see how it turns faster and faster as the boy runs. The mother yonder can scarcely guard her little daughter from the violence of the storm ; and the man must keep himself well balanced, lest the wind drive him stumbling.
" Mother, there is to-day a strong wind that bends every thing : only see how sister's hair blows about like the clothes on the line. Where does the wind come from which blows every thing so ? " — " Indeed, my child, if I were to tell you my idea of it, you would not under- stand it : it would sound to you like a foreign language if I should say that the pressure of the air, or a change in its density or in its temperature, is the cause of the wind ; you would not understand what I mean. But this you can understand easily already : any great power, though it be only that of wind, even if you cannot see it, can accomplish many things great and small. There are many things, my child, which we can perceive, but can- not see; there are others which we can both perceive and see, but the why I cannot yet put into words for you, nor explain to you. You can see the motion of your hand ; but the power within you which moves it, you can- not see. Consider and foster therefore all the powers you now feel : by and by you will better understand whence they come, even if they are invisible."
"ALL GONE."
A Play for Exercising the Joints of the Hand.
The turning of the hands now horizontally, now verti- cally, is well known to be a negative motion, implying that a certain thing or person is no longer there. This play, though it certainly by its motions exercises the joints of the hand (although in another position of the arm), is just opposite to the foregoing, both in its accompanying pictures and meaning. There was an extended actuality, here a deficiency ; there was a continuance, here a cessa- tion ; there an actual reference to the present, here a general expression of the past ; and throughout, a refer- ence to what was, as compared to what is. Everywhere there was something which is no longer here : the soup is gone, the plate is empty, the light burned out, there is no more salt.
The dog who accompanied the father to the field has
eaten his food : he appeare to be still hungry, but there
is nothing more. The boy is thirsty. " Please, sister,
give me some water." — " There is no more there," she
I says, holding the empty glass upside down that he may
! see for himself. In consequence of this unexpected and
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disagreeable information, he turns his attention from the buttered bread which lies behind him. The sly cat seems to have noticed this : she glides slowly up, and takes away the buttered bread to eat it. The boy, desiring it, will soon turn round, and will call out, " There is no more there." But I feel sorry for that little girl, because she had such good intentions : she meant to feed her singing- bird, and heedlessly left the door partly open, becauss she saw her sister reflected in the empty glass below. "Where is your singing-bird, my child?" — "Ah! it is no longer there : it has flown away." " Come with me, little sister," said her brother consolingly. " Up in an old tree I know of a nest with many little birds, which I will bring to you ; then you will have many instead of one : come, only come." See the children standing full of such expectation, that the hungry dog, which has fol- lowed them unnoticed, eats the bread out of the boy's hand ; and when he turns round he also cries, " It is no longer there." The brother is now already on the tree ; " But what do I see? the birds are no longer there, they have all flown." — " But one of the litde birds shall yet be mine," says the otlier brother. " See there, it is caught and confined under my hat : what a pleasure it will be to give it to my sister ! just such pleasure as I have in you, beautiful raspberries, which I find here, and will taste. You, dear little bird, must in the mean time stay shut up in the dark." But the wind comes, turns over the hat, the bird escapes, and the boy when he returns says, " Ah ! the little bird is no longer there."
" Mother, do not show me this picture any more, because nobody can keep any thing they want." — " You see, my child, if you want to keep any thing, you must be careful of it. You must not let yourself be carried away by your own eagerness. If you wish for any thing at a certain time, you must be punctual. Through the disappointed hope of quenching his thirst, the boy forgot his bread ; through carelessness the little girl let her singing-bird fly away. The boy had no right to take the little birds from their nests, and put them in a cage : their strength and courage has made their freedom secure. The dog ate the bread of the boy when he was absorbed in expectation ; and the ])leasure which the boy expected to give his sister was spoiled by his not being able to resist the attractions of the raspberry-bushes." — " Mother, let me look again at the little birds that are flying away."
TASTE SONG.
This little song and play, like that of the falling game, is given without marginal pictures, with which it can the more easily dispense, as tlie object itself lies so much nearer to life than visible objects.
Who does not know and enjoy what you, loving mother, carry on as play with your child, clothing in de-
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lightful sport the most important things in life, when jest- ing and playing with tlie child, you say, " Let me bite," or " Bite into the pear." " Ah, how sweet, how sweet it tastes ! "
Come, child, and take the berries white,
The berries of the currant-'mish; You crunch the fruit with glad delight,
And open wide your mouth for more: You seem to think them good to e.it. Although some sour is mixed with sweet.
What is more important for your child than the cultiva- tion of the senses, particularly of the c^nse of taste, espe- cially if you deduce from it a mora'.? For who would willingly have an indiscriminate, low taste? Who is not pleased if it can be truly said of him, " He has a good taste, a fine taste " ?
But what is there especially to commend the cultivation of taste ? The fact that through the taste is made appar- ent the innermost existence, the soul, the spirit of things, the vivifying or destroying principle. This is indeed just the use and the high significance of the senses ; that through them the innennost nature of things will be made known and manifest to our innermost, without the neces- sity of taking up the exterior material, as in the sense of taste. It is a highly remarkable quality of the senses, that through them he who has formed them within himself, by carefiilly following their indications, can already per- ceive the inner before it can work disadvantageously upon him, through their enjoyment of things which have a pre- judicial and health-endangering influence, or before it is necessary to destroy the thing itself by the enjoyment of it ; as it is the equally important corresponding quality of things, that they very frequently demonstrate outwardly their inner nature, and this is especially the case when the enjoyment of them is hurtful to the health. Thus it is well known that at least the greater part and the i.jost hurtful of the poisonous plants have a gloomy, sad, wrinkled, tangled appearance ; even the berry of the nightshade itself, beautifully round and smooth as it ap- pears, and the spurge-olive with its peach-red blossoms, share this property, as in a yet higher degree do the thorn- apple and the black henbane. Where the form does not betray the noxious property, the odor decidedly reveals it by the impression of disgust which it causes : even when the enjoyment of the thing eaten is healthy in itself, and becomes unhealthy only when too much is eaten, the taste causes at least slight loathing wliereby disgust and satiety rcsiflt ; as is the case, for instance, with honey.
But if the cultivation of the senses, that of sight, and especially those of smell and taste, is .important in prompt- ing us to shun many hurtful and unhealthy things, this ctiltivation is still more important for the de\-elopment and elevation of the mind and spirit, and for the arousing of
the will to energy -, Tor in all the natural world, the nature of things makes itself known only through cohesion, sub- stance, smell, and taste, as well as through form and figure, size and number, tone and color, and the endless changes of relations and proportions. The exact, strong, early cultivation of all the senses is therefore primarily important, both for man's earlier life, his childhood, and his later life, his manhood ; and especially as it does not, as with the savage, include only the bodily and physical, but endeavors earnestly to seek and perceive the inner- most nature of things, which lie in them revealed, which is possible only by considering, linking, and comparing the workings of the senses. For, as people say, " Speak, and I will tell you who you are," so things and their na- ture can be perceived only through the qualities that are perceptible to the senses. And man's taste becomes genuinely good and pure only when he understands this language of things, and through it defines their nature and spirit, either by observing them, or by their influ- ence on himself; and, in both cases, allows himself to be induced to action. For the soul, in fact, the spiritual ac- tivity of mankind, is revealed in the senses of the child as well as of the man ; so the senses are, as it were, the guides to the highest spiritual knowledge. This is espe- cially the case with the sense of taste in relation to the body, as well as to the moral spirit. Therefore, inother, cultivate your child's sense of taste.
Yet, as the taste-song with its motto endeavors to ex- olain, the cultivation of the senses is not merely impor- tant for the recognition of the different classes of things, of their proportions, and of their influence on one another and especially on mankind ; but the cultivation of the senses is, in another point of view, not merely as miportant, but much more so. in regard to the grade and degree of the physical cultivation, in reference to the degree of maturity attained by each thing ; and this principally applies to human life, human relations and phenomena. A clearer, firmer, more open gaze into them, shows us that there may be an unlawful use of, or invasion into, the life of things, before ripeness has been attained, which is the assured foundation of a mass of human evil, both in the individual, and in large and small communities, in the family and citizen life as well as in business and professional life.
So it is, dear m.other, that, by earnestly striving for the welfare of your child, a number of the evils destructive to the individual as well as to the family, to the citizen life as well as to the business and professional life, are to be avoided, for they have their assured foundation in this disturbing influence of the invasion of things which have not reached maturity, resembling the certain ill effects of unripe things upon the digestion. Therefore if you, mother, wish to secure the future well-being of each individual in your family, as well as of posterity, make
your children, in their first free self-activity, and especially in their first appropriation of the products of nature, not only observe the fixed stages of development from un- ripeness to ripeness, but, above all, the natural repugnance to the use of all immaturity, in all the relations of life, and the often destructive re-action of this repugnance on physical life, and still more on spiritual and social life ; and you will thus, in your motherly efficiency, become one of the greatest benefactors of the human race.
A TALK ABOUT SMELLING.
We have seen, in the taste-song already explained, the high importance of the cultivation of the senses, and especially of the sense of taste, in order to make us acquainted with the hidden causes of the outward ap- pearances about us.
To the sense of taste, however, is closely allied that of smell : they supply each other's deficiencies, and thus reveal to us more completely the objects around us, both in their beneficial and detrimental aspects, not only with regard to the body, but also with regard to the higher and purely spiritual life. Very difficult is it for the mother to decide where the bodily existence ends, and the spiritual begins. On account of this melting of the physical into the spiritual, of the vital into the intellectual, of the instinctive into the moral, is the careful cultivation of the senses, especially of the taste and smell, which fit into each other so as to form one whole, indis]3ensable. Where the senses of sight and taste leave us in uncertainty, that of smell sets in, and makes all clear to us ; for it is very remarkable, as we have already said, that every thing inju- rious to health not only wears a drooping melancholy aspect to the sight, but conveys a kindred mipression to the taste and smell ; nay, even to the hearing, as, for instance, discordant tones in metals, for which reason we say, "That has the true ring about it," — all of which shows the immense importance of cultivating the senses. Further it is important to notice that every thing in itself good, healthy, and elevating, as soon as it is used in excess, has an opposite and injurious effect ; for instance, the scent of the lilac in a small room. Excess always engenders disgust, disgust becomes loathing, warning us to avoid excess for health's sake. All this, O mother ! you can teach in the several games of smelling and tasting, ard in your loving conversations with your children. " Mother, I've got a headache." — " What have you been doing, then ? " — " Nothing but gathering beautiful flowers, which I have been putting together here." — " Ah ! that is just it : so many strong-smelling plants, especially those lilacs in the midst, have loaded the air of the room with their scents, which work upon your head through youi nose. We may have too much even of a good thing . and what is good in itself must have a sufficient sphers
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for its activity, if it is to be beneficial. It is selfish, my child, to collect around yourself too much that is good and beautiful, leaving very lilUe for others to enjoy."
" liut, mother, the plants and flowers seem to love us as
yju do."
They le.id us by example bright
To shun tlie d.irk, and seSk the light.
Blossoms tender, fragrant, coy,
Filling all my heart with joy,
Come and whisper in my ear
How ye live from year to year ;
Your sweet peace to me impart,
And purify my inmost heart ;
Set me aye from danger free ;
When trial comes, admonish me.
All your names I now can tell :
Teach your hinguage to me well ;
Your form and color speak to me,
And say, " You shall not weary be."
Your words, like many perfumes rare.
Float upon the summer air.
Teach to love the true, and know
When pleasure leads to woe;
For within each blossom bright
Lurks a spirit fair and light.
Yes, sweet flowers ! ve vourselvcs
Are kind and ever-watchful elves.
That comfort me when I am weak.
And teach me higher things to seek ;
Pointing me to the God alnn e,
Who made lx>th you and me in love.
Let me pluck you as a prize
To gladden my dear parents' eyes.
And be to ihem a sign from me
Of gratitude and harmony.
E'en the dreadful reaper, Death,
Cannot stop your fragrant breath.
Still it lingers in the air
To soothe me when ye are nrtt there.
Vour beauty and enchanting grace
Remind me of my mother's face, —
Of her who would be fain to die,
Could she but bless her child thereby.
There's nothing fair that I can find.
Which ye recall not to my mind;
For every hour I breathe and live
The gentle counsel ye can give.
To be more loving, kind, and true.
Such lessons I have learned from yon.
Speak to me still : my e.ager ear
Will always ready be to hear ;
Nor will I pluck you in unthinking play,
Lest hidden thorns should make me rue the day.
TIC-TAC. A Play for Mm'tni; and Training the Arms.
The execution of this play is easy. Your child, foster- ing mother, stands before )'(ju on a table, as shown by the picture , or he may sit in your la|) with one of his little anus free, and so that you, letting the arm hang down
pendulum-fashion, can move it. That the movement is not confined exclusively to either the right or left arm, is easily understood, and scarcely needs to be mentioned. But yet be it said, that, in order that the cultivation of your child be not confined to one point, this play can be carried on with the legs also, making now the right, now the left leg march : all this will lead to a healthy, beau- tiful, thoughtful, and dexterous development of the child.
Shall we, thoughtful mother, mutually explain something beyond the picture ? Yet indeed you know all this belter than I ; for I have learned it first from you, in consider- ing your thoughtful, motherly acts.
You are entirely right : it is certainly well worth consid- eration, that children are so much attracted by any thing that is called a clock. (The Swiss, so expressive in this and in many other things, call it "time.") I cannot but retain the persuasion that a higher and inner meaning, a certain relation of anticipation and affinity in regard to the spirit, is expressed in this, as in many another play. It is certain that the invariability of the laws of motion, the rhythm of the penduluin-beats, has something very attractive ; and you yourself still remember from your school-days that the mode and swiftness of the pendulum- beats instructed us more than seemingly more important things, — more than the place and form of our earth-ball ; so that it would now appear that the anticipation of a higher signification in the child's attraction to the clock and pendulum-beat is an argument in favor of my per- suasion. Yet )'ou allow this : the motion, the wheel-work, the apparent life in the clock, the mechanism, especially the concealment and mystery, is the attraction? It may sometimes be so, I grant ; but it certainly is not all the attraction, else why do children, as I have often observed, like to make sun-dials in which no other motion is repre- sented than the almost imperceptible one of the advancing shadow? Allow me the opinion, the belief, the convic- tion, that a deep, slumbering presentiment of the impor- tance of time lies at the foundation of the child's liking for the play representing the clock. This, my opinion as an opinion, harms neither the child nor any one else ; but it is serviceable in its application to the child and to every one, for who does not know the importance of the em- ployment of time for all the needs of life? I scarcely know any thing which is more important for man, from his earliest appearance on earth, than the holding and grasp- ing of the right times. Does not the very life of the child depend on it in the first moments of life? There- fore it is highly essential to make use of the desire, I might say the attraction, which the clock has for the child, in oi-der to educate him to the right consideration, correct ( oiTiprehension, and best use of time. We. careful mother, will employ this, like the little leg-plays, to develop care- fiilncss about time in our dear child : so that later he may understand you when he begs of you, " Show me this little
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picture," and you say to him, " See what the little kitten is doing.
So clean and smooth itself it makes,
That in our hearts it pleasure wakes.
It certainly knows that now the time for the visit of dear friends approaches."
" Come to me, my dear child, that you may be made clean and bright," says the mother, " for dear guests are soon coming. Your father's dear eyes, which are so clear, my child, must find you also pure ; and the beautiful little flowers and the clean little doves are coming too.
To make himself one with such visitors sweet, My child must be clean, my child must be neat.
But the dear child always has visitors : the clear rays of the sun, the shining stars, and the bright moon, come to him ; they also wish to see and caress him.
They wish the little child to meet,
Because he is so clean and sweet .
Else would the bright ones my little child shun ;
That to them, as to thee, would give pain, little one.
Therefore, my child, where'er thou mayst be.
Let purity never be absent from thee."
Just five little children are playing clock there. These five little children are of course five little fingers who would like to learn to know the time, so that they can do every thing at the right time. " Come here, five little fingers of my baby's hand, and learn from the five little children in the picture."
MOWING GR.'^SS. An Arm-Play.
Both your child's little hands (the fore-arms stretched out horizontally, and a little raised with bent fingers, the outer side turned up) rest in your hands, which are held and bent in the same way, but whose outer side is turned uniler ; both sets of arms move alike, making thus a motion similar to that of mowing grass. This move- ment especially cultivates the joints of the upper arm, and improves the erectness of the child.
Nothing, mother, is more prejudicial to the well-being and inner blessedness of your children, and especially to the cultivation of their hearts, and the fostering of their minds, than inability to consider objects which outwardly appear separate and apart from them, as being also in- wardly separate from the whole life-bond. You, careful mother, may early guard your child from this by a childish play like the foregoing one. " Mother, I am hungry." — "Go to the kitchen, and let them give you some bread ;" or, " There is a penny : go and buy a roll." So, indeed, we must often in life say to the child. Only we shall not always say so. Early, and as often as possible, we shall
make perceptible the succession of the conditions and needs which must all be gone through and fulfilled ere one can briefly say, " Go and let them give you this or that bread," or something else.
This can be effected by the thoughtful selection, se- quence, and grouping of beautiful pictures of country and garden life, of trade and business life, and by tell- ing short stories connecting real life with them, such as you, mother, have certainly already attempted ; and we, if you will permit it, will now do it again, looking through this collection of pictures together.
It will be easy for you, guided by the song and draw- ing, to teach your child, when it asks for an explanation of the picture, that it must thank for its bread and milk, not only its mother, Peter, the cow, Lizzie, and the baker, but, above all, the Life-Giver and Preserver, the Father of all beings ; through whose design, indeed, the earth (by means of the influences of dew and rain, sunshine and night, winter and summer) brings forth grass and herbs for the nourishment of animals, and through them of mankind. Your child will certainly understand you, and all the more if you allow him to take a part, if only by imitating (like the boy in the picture) what the grown-up people do in order to preserve life ; and especially if you by and by make him cultivate his own little garden, har- vest the fruit when ripe, and thus lead him to reflect on the influence of sun, dew, and rain, and of the eternal laws of God which govern earth and nature. If it is just as little possible now for the child to draw together the links of its hfe-chain as it is for the children who sit in the lower corners of the picture to link together their chain of milk-giving flowers, yet he will just as little doubt of its future success, as the diligent boy and the thought- ful girl doubt that in their own progressive development they will one day joyfully draw together the links of their life-chain. '■ Be careful," says the tree on the left, by which the boy sits (by its appearance to him and to all those who are to be educated), "be careful that mean- ness, baseness, falseness, and delusion do not spring from the originally good stem : else there will grow from it only a shrunken stick which will yield nothing but harsh and unpalatable fruit." " Be careful," the tree on the right, by which the little girl sits, by its form says to her and to all growing-up children, " be careful that you do not injure the top, the summit, the life-attraction, or, in- deed, break the summit, the crown, from the life-tree of your existence, by ignorance and thoughtlessness : else your reward will be bushes, wood, and leaves, but not blossoms, and still less fruit." And it is now clear to me, mother, why both the children sit turned away from the trees. May the important truths which they express to the children never find an echo in their hearts from their own experience ! Mother, mother, may you never have to fear any thing evil for your chiklren, from that which
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is atlractive to them ! Wiih you, gliul l)oy, mowing with strong arms, and wiili ycjii, at live girl, gayly Ibllowiug the hay-cart, tliis is certain!)' not tlic case.
CALLING •fllL (■IIICKLNS.
The beckoning hand of tlic mother, and that of the child, wiUi ills lovely bent lingers closely pressed together, require no further directions ibr the outward explanation of this child-i)lay. 'I'he strength and skill gained by this moving of the lingers explains itself.
Hut tliis mother has surely heard that of which we spoke, in respect to the foregoing drawing. Only look at the little, healthy, strong child, whose eye never turns away from the chickens which its mother's beckoning and calling detains. The mother has certainly brought jiini into the open air, that he may clearly perceive his fresh, ruling, inner life mirrored in the outward, and so feel it strongly in himself. Several groujjs of children have followed the mother into the open air to share the pleasure ; for who would not willingly follow such a child- fosterer, especially what children would not do so ? But see also the health, the gayety, and the thoughtfulness, which abide in the faces and motions of all these children. See the three on the right, the middle one of whom is kneeling : how attractively the fresh life of nature acts as a magnet upon them ! so strongly it attracts the sturdy boy behind the two little girls, that he is not content to share it with them alone : no, he turns round to beckon to the three other children who appear so gay over there by the tree ; but they seem to ha\e no desire to leave the view which lies before them, and which attracts them too powerfully. And here, to the left, how the child crouches down, that he may not lose one of the manifestations of life made by the chicken family. One little girl, impelled by her awakening desire to cherish something, eagerly V)eckons and calls to the cock and hens, lest they leave behind any of their chickens. So each sees in the mirror of nature his own inner life, and strengthens this life through the perception; as the child descries its life in the mirror of its mother's eyes, and growls strong in this perception. And certainly all these children will grow npu-ard as gayly as the hops which climb so fresh and strong near the little girls ; and in the future they will all stand as firmly as the tree uniler whose shadow the little children now rejoice in the life of nature.
<ALLI\(; THE I^OVKS.
^^'llat the child often saw, while on the mother's arm or la]), she willingly displays to i)lease him while sitting at the table. The lingers of the mother, which then move, tap])ing toward the child, re])resent the doves or birds hopping toward him in the oi)en air: the child, attracted.
is induced to imitate the actions of the mother, and so begins to exercise the finger-joints by moving forward his fingers. So nmch for the exterior of