. Original poems, for infant minds . 73 THE GLEANER. BEFORE the bright sun rises over the hill, In the cornfield poor Mary is seen,Impatient her little blue apron to fill, With the few scatterd ears she can glean. She never leaves off, or runs out of her place, To play, or to idle, and chat;Except now and then, just to wipe her hot face, And fan herself with her broad hat. Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun, How tird and hot you must be:Why dont you leave off, as the others have done, And sit with them under the tree? Oh no! for my mother lies ill in her bed, Too feeble to spin or
. Original poems, for infant minds . 73 THE GLEANER. BEFORE the bright sun rises over the hill, In the cornfield poor Mary is seen,Impatient her little blue apron to fill, With the few scatterd ears she can glean. She never leaves off, or runs out of her place, To play, or to idle, and chat;Except now and then, just to wipe her hot face, And fan herself with her broad hat. Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun, How tird and hot you must be:Why dont you leave off, as the others have done, And sit with them under the tree? Oh no! for my mother lies ill in her bed, Too feeble to spin or to knit;And my poor little brothers are crying for bread, And yet we cant give them a bit! Then could I be merry, and idle, and play, While they are so hungry and ill ?0 no, I had rather work hard all the day, My little blue apron to fill. SNOW. 0 COME to the window, dear brother, and see,WTiat mischief was done in the night; The snow has quite coverd the nice apple-tree,And the bushes are sprinkled with white. 7 74 ORIGINAL POEMS,. The spring in the grove is beginning to freeze, The pond is hard frozen all oer,Long icicles hang in bright rows from the trees, And drop in odd shapes from the door. The old mossy thatch, an d the meadows so green, Are coverd all over with white;The snow-drop and crocus no more can be seen, The thick snow has coverd them quite. And see the poor birds how they fly to and fro,Theyre come for their breakfast again ; But the little worms all are hid under the snow,They hop about chirping in vain. Then open the window, Ill throw them some bread, Ive some of my breakfast to spare;I wish they would come to my hand to be fed, But theyre all flown away, I declare. Nay, now, pretty birds, dont be frightend, I pray, You shall not be hurt, Ill engage;Im not come to catch you, and force you away, And fasten you up in a cage. FOR INFANT MINDS. 75 I wish you could know youve no cause for alarm,From me you have nothing to fear ; Why, my little fingers could do you
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