Graded Memory Selections. Various

      There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket,

      And the breeze will swing and the gale will rock it,

      Till three little birds on the thin edge teeter,

      And our God be glad and our world be sweeter.

      Do thy duty, that is best,

      Leave unto the Lord the rest.

      Whene’er a task is set for you,

      Don’t idly sit and view it—

      Nor be content to wish it done;

      Begin at once and do it.

      Beautiful hands are those that do

      Work that is earnest, brave and true,

      Moment by moment, the long day through.

      There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover,

      There’s no rain left in heaven;

      I’ve said my “seven times” over and over,

      Seven times one are seven.

      I am old, so old I can write a letter;

      My birthday lessons are done;

      The lambs play always, they know no better—

      They are only one times one.

      O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing

      And shining so round and low;

      You were bright, ah bright! but your light is failing,—

      You are nothing now but a bow.

      You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,

      That God has hidden your face?

      I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,

      And shine again in your place.

      O velvet bee, you’re a dusty fellow;

      You’ve powdered your legs with gold!

      O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,

      Give me your money to hold!

      And show me your nest with the young ones in it,—

      I will not steal it away;

      I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet,—

      I am seven times one to-day!

      God bless the little stockings all over the land to-night

      Hung in the choicest corners, in the glory of crimson light.

      The tiny scarlet stockings, with a hole in the heel and toe,

      Worn by the wonderful journeys that the darlings have to go.

      And Heaven pity the children, wherever their homes may be,

      Who wake at the first gray dawning, an empty stocking to see.

      What does little birdie say

      In her nest at peep of day?

      “Let me fly,” says little birdie,

      “Mother, let me fly away.”

      “Birdie, rest a little longer,

      Till the little wings are stronger.”

      So she rests a little longer,

      Then she flies away.

      What does little baby say,

      In her bed at peep of day?

      Baby says, like little birdie,

      “Let me rise and fly away.”

      “Baby, sleep a little longer,

      Till the little limbs are stronger.

      If she sleeps a little longer,

      Baby, too, shall fly away.”

      Suppose, my little lady,

      Your doll should break her head;

      Could you make it whole by crying

      Till your eyes and nose are red?

      And wouldn’t it be pleasanter

      To treat it as a joke,

      And say you’re glad ’twas Dolly’s,

      And not your head, that broke?

      Suppose you’re dressed for walking,

      And the rain comes pouring down;

      Will it clear off any sooner

      Because you scold and frown?

      And wouldn’t it be nicer

      For you to smile than pout,

      And so make sunshine in the house

      When there is none without?

      Suppose your task, my little man,

      Is very hard to get;

      Will it make it any easier

      For you to sit and fret?

      And wouldn’t it be wiser,

      Than waiting like a dunce,

      To go to work in earnest,

      And learn the thing at once?

      What does the daisy see

      In the breezy meadows tossing?

      It sees the wide blue fields o’er head

      And the little cloud flocks crossing.

      What does the daisy see

      Round the sunny meadows glancing?

      It sees the butterflies’ chase

      And the filmy gnats at their dancing.

      What does the daisy see

      Down in the grassy thickets?

      The grasshoppers green and brown,

      And the shining, coal-black crickets.

      It sees the bobolink’s nest,

      That no one else can discover,

      And the brooding mother-bird

      With the floating grass above her.

      Have you ever heard the wind go “Yoooooo”?

      ’Tis a pitiful sound to hear;

      It seems to chill you through and through

      With a strange and speechless fear.

      ’Tis the voice

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