es 2s// 
 
 Lfs. LS 
 
 I ^ T-<^ 
 
PS 3511 
 .L95 L5 
 1920 
 Copy 1 
 
 LITTLE RHYMES 
 
 <f 
 
 HILDHOOD 
 
 Annie Mcllhany Flynt 
 
©C1A568717 
 
 M 1^1320 
 

o mj) daughters 
 Virginia and Ru^ 
 and all {Keir little friends 
 4iis book is lovingly dedicated 
 
THE PALM TREE 
 
 Mother, the beautiful Palm Tree 
 
 Waved its arms and spoke to me. 
 
 It waved its arms and bowed its head, 
 
 And this is what the Palm Tree said : 
 
 Under my arms is a nice cool shade, 
 
 Where you can bring your bucket and spade 
 
 And rest, when the morning's play is done 
 
 While the beach is hot with the noonday sun. 
 
 Here you can rest and eat your lunch, 
 
 You and all your little bunch; 
 
 Or you can lie and take a nap, 
 
 It's just as nice as mother's lap; 
 
 This is what the Palm Tree said 
 
 When it waved its arms and bowed its head. 
 
MY BEAUTIFUL DOLL 
 
 A little girl came to see me, 
 A girl I did not know. 
 And Oh! she was so cruel 
 To treat my poor doll so! 
 
 My beautiful doll, I call her. 
 Her eyes are lovely blue. 
 Her curly locks are golden, 
 I love her, Oh! so true! 
 
 This girl who came to see me. 
 She took my baby out 
 And left her on the drive way 
 Beneath the water spout. 
 
 And Oh! That night the rain came, 
 It poured, and poured all night, 
 And when I went next morning 
 To find the little mite. 
 
My heart was nearly broken. 
 She was all wet and cold. 
 I took her to my mother; 
 My mother did not scold. 
 
 She told me not to worry, 
 I did not need to cry, 
 For she could make my baby 
 Nice and warm and dry. 
 
 And now she's just as pretty. 
 Her color did not fade, 
 For she's the finest dolly 
 That ever has been made. 
 
 My pretty little Goldenlocksl 
 I never will again 
 Let strangers take my baby 
 And leave her in the rain. 
 
AT NIGHT 
 
 Last night when all the children 
 Were sound asleep in bed, 
 And I awake and thinking 
 Of all I'd done and said; 
 
 I heard the crickets talking, 
 This they seemed to say: 
 "Be good, be good my children, 
 Be good through all the day.** 
 
 I heard the ocean roaring 
 A deep and solemn song: 
 "Be careful, little children, 
 And never do a wrong." 
 
 I saw the stars all shining 
 So beautiful and bright. 
 They seemed to softly whisper: 
 "Thou Lord, art ever right." 
 
 And so I prayed the Father, 
 In gratitude and love, 
 To guide all little children 
 Unto Himself above. 
 
THE SEA GULL 
 
 Pretty Sea Gull, 
 Do you know? 
 I would like to be 
 Just a pretty Sea Gull 
 Floating on the sea; 
 
 Rocking gently 
 
 To and fro, 
 
 Rising with the spray. 
 
 Sailing o'er the ocean 
 
 Oh! so far away! 
 
 Pretty Sea Gull, 
 Come to me. 
 Tell me, is it true, 
 You are never fearful 
 Of the water blue? 
 
 In the night time. 
 
 Is it cold? 
 
 Or do you fly away 
 
 To your little nestlings? 
 
 Pretty Sea Gull, say! 
 
VIRGINIA'S READING 
 
 "I'm to have a reading, mothah, 
 Next Sunday's Eastah day. 
 Miss Agnes said to ask you 
 And you'd know what to say." 
 
 "You may tell Miss Agnes, darling, 
 I'll find you one somewhere, 
 When Easter morning comes around 
 Virginia will be there." 
 
 The church was filled with people 
 On lovely Easter day, 
 To hear the little children 
 Read and sing and pray. 
 
 Virginia tossed her golden curls 
 And proudly took her stand. 
 This the reading that she gave, 
 A lily in her hand: 
 
 "Considah the lilies of the field. 
 They toil not neithah do they spin; 
 Yet Solomon in all his glory 
 Was not arrayed like one of these." 
 
 A moment thus, the flower upheld. 
 
 Not purer than her baby face, 
 
 A bow, and then sedately 
 
 She marched back to her place. 
 
 A hush, and then a ripple through the room. 
 And mother stopped a tear. 
 While father whispered proudly: 
 "That was great, my dear." 
 
RUTH 
 
 "I wouldn't give a million dollars to sell my mother,' 
 
 Said little Ruth last night, 
 
 When I tucked the covers 'round her 
 
 And made them snug and tight. 
 
 I wouldn't take a million dollars, 
 In gold and jewels rare, 
 To sell my little daughter. 
 My little Ruth so fair. 
 
 She's so petit and dainty 
 So loving and so true, 
 I couldn't sell my darling, 
 My little Ruth, could you? 
 
PUSSY WILLOWS 
 
 (From an Old Story) 
 
 Six little kittens, soft and gray, 
 Lay asleep on the porch one day. 
 The farmer, coming in to tea 
 And seeing them, said angrily: 
 
 We have no use for all these cats, 
 Old Tom can take care of the rats. 
 I think I'll throw them in the pond — 
 Of kittens I was never fond. 
 
 No little girl with pleading cries. 
 
 No little boy with anxious eyes, 
 
 Was standing by to take their part 
 
 And change the farmer's hardened heart. 
 
 Only the farmer's wife, who said: 
 
 "Perhaps twere better that they were dead." 
 
 So he took a sack and tied it tight 
 
 And threw them into the pond that night. 
 
 But the sack was old, and the heavy stone 
 Went to the bottom all alone, 
 While the half-drowned kittens clambered out 
 And wandered tremblingly about. 
 
 Now a willow tree was growing near, 
 And the poor, wet kitties, filled with fear, 
 Climbed upon a leafy limb 
 And nestled in the shadow dim. 
 
TTiere upon the kind old tree 
 They romped and frolicked merrily. 
 All the summer, night and day 
 They staid, nor cared to go away. 
 
 But when the cooler weather came 
 The leaves turned red with Autumn's flame, 
 Then fluttered softly to the ground 
 Where on a Winter home they found. 
 
 The kittens, also tired of play, 
 Drifted, one by one, away 
 To find a home with warmth and light 
 And food, and shelter, from the night. 
 
 Then lonely grew the poor old tree 
 And moaned and sighed so mournfully 
 All the dreary Winter long, 
 That Mother Nature heard her song. 
 
 And when the Spring came with the flowers. 
 There in place of fresh, green bowers. 
 Were little fluffy balls of gray, 
 Like the kitties, gone away. 
 
 The old tree sighed with full content 
 While the graceful limbs were gently bent. 
 To show to all who came to see 
 The Pussy Willows on the tree. 
 
THE CLOCKS 
 
 In the dark and silent night time, 
 I hear the clocks all strike; 
 So strange it is to hear them, 
 They do not strike alike. 
 
 The town clock sounds so solemn. 
 As though it seems to say: 
 "I see the people going 
 And coming, day by day. 
 
 "I hear the ceaseless beating 
 Of the city's mighty heart, 
 In all her joy and sorrow 
 *Tis I who have a part." 
 
 The clock upon the stairway 
 Has a kind and home-like sound. 
 It says: "When you are resting 
 In peaceful slumber bound, 
 
 "I watch and guard the household, 
 When morning comes apace, 
 I hold my friendly hands to you 
 And show my cheerful face." 
 
 From out my mother's bedroom 
 I hear a gentle chime: 
 "Dear child lie still and slumber. 
 Morning comes in time." 
 
 But hark! A saucy cuckoo clock 
 Cries out: "Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 
 I dare you now to go to sleep; 
 Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" 
 
THE FIREMEN 
 
 Out in front of our house, most every day. 
 The firemen bring their things and play. 
 They play at fire and have more fun I 
 They ring the bell, and jump and run. 
 They pour the water in the street 
 And we wade in it with our bare feet. 
 
 The other day when they were there 
 And we were standing 'round to stare, 
 The fire bell rang, the whistle blew, 
 And up the street they fairly flew, 
 Scattering children left and right 
 'Round the corner and out of sight. 
 
 The people all came out to see 
 Where on earth the fire might be. 
 They stood around and talked a while, 
 Then went in with nod and smile. 
 Where the fire was, we don't know, 
 They didn't give us time to go. 
 
CHARLIE'S DREAM 
 
 "Charlie! Charlie! Get up, dear! 
 The night is gone and morning's here. 
 There are fires to make and cows to feed, 
 And father soon your help will need." 
 
 That s my mother's morning song, 
 And I hear it all night long. 
 If my dreams be sweet or mild, 
 Still I hear her call her child. 
 
 "Charlie! Charlie! Get up, dear! 
 The night is gone and morning's here. 
 There are fires to make and cows to feed. 
 And father soon your help will need." 
 
 Last night the strangest thing 1 dreamed, 
 I was underneath the sea, it seemed. 
 I walked through corals, rich and rare 
 And saw the seaweed growing fair. 
 
 A little mermaid held my hand. 
 And led me through the shining sand 
 To show me where the mermen keep 
 The priceless treasures of the deep. 
 
Tired at last, I sat me down 
 And all the fishes gathered round; 
 They formed themselves in one great ring 
 And this old song began to sing: 
 
 "Charlie! CharHe! Get up, dear! 
 The night is gone and morning's here. 
 There are fires to make and cows to feed, 
 And father soon your help will need." 
 
 I rubbed and rubbed my sleepy eyes 
 And saw there to my surprise. 
 No fishes, either great or small, 
 No corals rare or sand at all. 
 
 There was no seaweed, and no sea; 
 There were no treasures there for me. 
 No mermaid seated by my side. 
 But only mother there, who cried: 
 
 "Charlie! Charlie! Get up, dear! 
 The night is gone and morning's here. 
 There are fires to make and cows to feed, 
 And father soon your help will need." 
 
PLAYING BEAR 
 
 Our home is on the table, 
 The bear's den on the floor, 
 And over in the corner 
 Is the candy woman's store. 
 
 Who will get the candy? 
 
 "I will, give me the dime. 
 
 Oh, Dear! The bear is watching, 
 
 I can't go by this time." 
 
 *'Now wait, I think he's sleeping. 
 Hush, 'til I reach the door; 
 Now run! The old bear's coming. 
 Just hear that dreadful roar!" 
 
 "Oh, help! He's right behind me! 
 Tick Lock, I'm safe at last." 
 It's just as real as can be 
 Until the danger's past. 
 
THE SEA OF FORTUNE 
 
 Whenever I ask Aunt Maidie, 
 To "give me a nickle, please," 
 She says, "Just wait little Jimmie, 
 'Til my ship sails over the seas." 
 
 A bicycle, too, and a pony, 
 Aunt Maidie will give to me, 
 With ever so many treasures. 
 When her ship sails over the sea. 
 
 I asked Aunt Maidie to tell me 
 
 What sea her ship sailed on. 
 
 And she said: " 'Tis the Sea of Fortune 
 
 With millions of ships thereon." 
 
 So I went and got my atlas 
 And searched it through and through. 
 But never a "Sea of Fortune" 
 Could I find mid the waters blue. 
 
A FAIRY TALE 
 
 Dear little Marjorie is weeping today 
 
 Because no little playmate comes with her to play. 
 
 Weeping, she opens her pretty blue eyes 
 
 And sees, standing by her, with wondering surprise. 
 
 An airplane all golden, with silvery wings, 
 
 The pilot, a fairy who tunefully sings: 
 
 **Come, little Marjorie, come fly with me. 
 
 I will carry you over the billowy sea; 
 
 Over the sea to fair Baby land 
 
 Where you shall walk with me and choose from the band 
 
 A wee little sister to be all your own 
 
 And never again shall you weep here alone." 
 
 Then the dimples come back to sweet Marjorie* s face 
 
 She daintily steps to the passenger's place, 
 
 Leans back on the cushions of silk-covered down 
 
 And soon is away over city and town. 
 
 They fly like the wind through the violet skies, 
 
 The birds flutter by them with wondering cries. 
 
 Beyond the dim milky way, ever so far, 
 
 The pale moon, like a cradle, holds one tiny star. 
 
At last, at the sound of a soft lullaby, 
 They gently descend from out the blue sky. 
 Before a great portal of Mother of Pearl 
 The airplane alights with the fairy and girl. 
 It is Babyland, peopled with babies so dear. 
 Babies who never knew hunger or fear; 
 Golden haired babies with eyes of deep blue. 
 Babies with hair of dark ringlets, too. 
 **OhI What shall I do?" sweet Marjorie cries, 
 As one tiny toddler looks up in her eyes. 
 "May I take this wee darling my sister to be? 
 Dear little baby could you always love me?." 
 The little one dimples and whispers quite low: 
 "I love oo, I love oo, I do love oo so.' 
 The fairy then lifting the soft little form 
 Tenderly lays it in Marjorie' s arm. 
 Now, homeward they speed, and never again 
 Shall Marjorie weep and suffer the pain 
 Of loneliness sad, for the baby will stay 
 And play with and love her forever and aye. 
 
THE TOILERS 
 
 Oh! How busy, busy, busy, 
 These little people be! 
 They seem to be as busy 
 As the ever busy sea. 
 
 Building mountains lofty. 
 With wondrous tunnels through. 
 With rivers running all around, 
 Filled with water, too. 
 
 Digging caverns wide and deep 
 In the golden sand. 
 Hunting crabs and pretty shells, 
 Such a happy band. 
 
 It doesn't seem to matter 
 That through the pleasant night. 
 While they are busy sleeping 
 With all their main and might. 
 
 The busy sea is working. 
 Making all for naught 
 The lovely mounds and cities 
 So faithfully wrought. 
 
 They'll work just as hard tomorrow 
 As they have done today, 
 These busy little people, 
 It is their busy way. 
 
DOWN BY THE SEA 
 
 Down by the sea, 
 
 Just you and me 
 
 And Ruth and Betty Ann, 
 
 Will dig a cave 
 
 For a great sea wave 
 
 To drown the old sand man. 
 
 Every day 
 
 At the end of play 
 
 He makes us go to bed. 
 
 That is why 
 
 We think we'll try 
 
 If we can get ahead. 
 
 So here by the sea. 
 
 Just you and me 
 
 And Ruth and Betty Ann, 
 
 Will dig a cave 
 
 For a great sea wave 
 
 To drown the old sand man. 
 
MOCCASIN FALLS 
 
 Dear chum of girlhood's golden days, 
 I've a picture, clearly limned 
 Upon my mind that all the years 
 Of changes have not dimmed. 
 
 'Tis Indian Summer, and we two 
 Have wandered, arm in arm, 
 Through the village, down the hill, 
 In sight of Hyman's farm. 
 
 By Aunt Marilla's cabin old. 
 Where the dogs lie in the sun, 
 And the water cart stands idle, 
 For Uncle Jim is gone. 
 
 Down Bosque creek we've wandered. 
 Past the grape-vine swing. 
 Ah! I was little Annie then 
 And you were Emma King. 
 
We've stopped before a little pool, 
 Where the water stayed to play, 
 Before it traveled on again 
 To the ocean far away. 
 
 Moccasin Falls, we called it — 
 Harry Hyman named it so. 
 You remember Harry, do you? 
 A grown man, long ago. 
 
 Shoes and stockings laid aside. 
 You've stepped into the pool. 
 One bare white foot uplifted 
 To feel the ripple cool. 
 
 Your blue print dress, your red gold hair, 
 Your fair, sweet face and eyes of brown, 
 Your rounded form of girlish grace, 
 Is the picture years can never drown. 
 
 Those girlhood days come back to me. 
 And I love to think and sing 
 Of the days when I was Annie 
 And you were Emma King. 
 
MR. SQUIRREL 
 
 Now naughty Mr. Squirrel, 
 You know you're not afraid; 
 You know I would not hurt you 
 For all the pennies made. 
 
 Don't whisk your bushy tail so. 
 And run away and hide 
 Behind the pepper tree trunk. 
 And peep around the side. 
 
 Now, come and get the peanut, 
 I'll hold it out to you. 
 There, see, I will not touch you; 
 Come and get it, do I 
 
 Ah! Naughty Mr. Squirrel, 
 You'll need this nut some day, 
 When all the girls and boys are gone 
 To grammar school away. 
 
 There now, you see, I told you 
 I would do you no harm. 
 Go put it snug and safe away 
 Down in your peanut farm. 
 
FLY 
 
 There was a little dog named Fly, 
 
 He was just about so high. 
 
 He ran up to me 
 
 And bit my knee 
 
 And I climbed on the fence, up high. 
 
 His mistress was named George E., 
 
 Her age was just about three. 
 
 When I cried out 
 
 George E. flew about 
 
 And made little Fly skiddee. 
 
EACH MORN ANEW 
 
 Why does little Curly Head 
 When she cuddles down in bed, 
 Drift so quickly off to sleep? 
 Does she have a tryst to keep 
 With some fairy in the dell 
 Where those little people dwell? 
 
 When the shadow of a smile 
 Drifts across her lips the while, 
 Is she in a fairy boat 
 On the sea of sleep afloat? 
 Or does some tiny elfin dear 
 Whisper secrets in her ear? 
 
 Surely she has been somewhere 
 In a world that's free from care; 
 For there linger in her eyes 
 Sparkling lights from moonlit skies 
 Bright and fresh as drops of dew 
 When she wakes each morn anew. 
 
DREAMLAND 
 
 What kind of a chariot will you ride in tonight? 
 Bright golden yellow or one pearly white? 
 Either will take you to Dreamland you know, 
 As soon as you're settled, away you will go. 
 
 You will hear the sweet music of Fairyland there; 
 
 You will see the Queen Fairy, a star in her hair. 
 
 Or perhaps you will drink the sweet nectar of flowers, 
 
 As you dance with the fairies through moonlighted hours. 
 
 The little play children you see through the day 
 Will walk and talk with you, light-hearted and gay; 
 But in the bright morning you never can tell 
 What beautiful things in the night-time befell. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 ■mi 
 
 015 908 406 1