HANG UP THE BABY’S STOCKING
1.Hang up the baby‘s stocking；Be sure you don’t forget.
The dear little dimpled darling！
She ne‘er saw Christmas yet；But I’ve told her all about it，And she opened her big blue eyes，And I‘m sure she understands it，She looked so funny and wise.
2.Dear！what a tiny stocking ！
It doesn’t take much to hold Such little pink toes as baby‘s，And keep them from frost and cold.But then for the baby’s ChristmasIt never will do at all；Why，Santa Claus wouldn‘t be looking For anything half so small ！
3.I know what we’ll do for the baby-I‘ve thought of the very best plan-I’ll borrow a stocking of grandma‘s，The longest that ever I can；And you’ll hang it by mine，dear mother Up here in the corner，so，His eager feetAs he hastes to meet，Whatever she has to say.
4.And the teachers depend On this little friend；At school in his place at nine，With his lessons learned And his good marks earned，All ready to toe the line.
5.I wonder if you Have seen him，too，This boy who is not too tall For a morning kissFrom mother and sis，Yet the manliest boy of all.
6.Gentle and strong，And the whole day longAs merry as boy can be；A gentleman，dears，In the coming years，And at present THE BOY FOR ME.
LUCY GRAY
1.Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray；And，when I crossed the wild，I chanced to see，at break of day，The solitary child.
2.No mate，no comrade Lucy knew；She dwelt on a wide moor，-The sweetest thing that ever grewBeside a human door！
3.You yet may spy the fawn at play，The hare upon the green；But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.
4.“To-night will be a stormy night-You to the town must go；And take a lantern，child，to light Your mother through the snow.”-5.“That，father，will I gladly do！‘Tis scarcely afternoon-The minster clock has just struck two，And yonder is the moon ！”
6.At this the father raised his hook，And snapped a fagot-band；He plied his work；-and Lucy tookThe lantern in her hand.
7.Not blither is the mountain roe：With many a wanton strokeHer feet disperse the powdery snow That rises up like smoke.
8.The storm came on before its time：She wandered up and down；And many a hill did Lucy climb，But never reached the town！
9.The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide；But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide.
10.At day-break on a hill they stood，That overlooked the moor；And thence they saw the bridge of wood，A furlong from their door.
11.They wept，and，turning homeward，cried，“In heaven we all shall meet！”-When in the snow the mother spiedThe print of Lucy’s feet！
12.Then downward from the steep hill‘s edge They tracked the foot-marks small；And through the broken hawthorn hedge，And by the long stone wall；13.And then an open field they crossed-The marks were still the same；They tracked them on，nor ever lost，And to the bridge they came.
14.They followed from the snowy bank Those fool-marks，one by one，Into the middle of the plank；And further there were none！-15.Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child；That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.
16.O’er rough and smooth she trips along，And never looks behind；And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.
TRY AGAIN
1.King Bruce of Scotland flung himself down，In a lonely mood to think；True he was a monarch，and wore a crown，ut his heart was beginning to sink.
2.For he had been trying to do a great deed，To make his people glad ；He had tried and tried，but could not succeed，And so he became quite sad.
3.He flung himself down in low despair，As grieved as man could be；And after a while，as he pondered there，“I‘ll give it all up，”said he.
4.Now just at the moment a spider dropped，With its silken cobweb clew；And the king in the midst of his thinking stopped To see what the spider would do.
5.’Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome，And it hung by a rope so fine，That how it Would get to its cobweb home King Bruce could not divine.
6.It soon began to cling and crawl Straight up with strong endeavour；But down it came with a slipping sprawl，As near to the ground as ever.
7.Up，up it ran，nor a second did stay，To utter the least complaint，Till it fell still lower；and there it lay A little dizzy and faint.
8.Its head grew steady-again it went，And travelled a half-yard higher；‘Twas a delicate thread it had to tread，And a road where its feet would tire.
9.Again it fell，and swung below；But again it quickly mounted，Till up and down，now fast，now slow，Six brave attempts were counted.
10.“Sure，”cried the king，“that foolish thing Will strive no more to climb，When it toils so hard to reach and cling，And tumbles every time.”
11.But up the insect went once more，--Ah me！’tis an anxious minuteHe‘s only a foot from his cobweb door，-Oh，say，will he lose or win it？
12.Steadily，steadily，inch by inch，Higher and higher he got，And a bold little run at the very last pinch Put him into his native cot.
13.“Bravo ！bravo ！”the king cried out；“All honour to those who try ！
The spider up there defied despair；
He conquered，and why should not I？”
14.And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind，And gossips tell the tale，That he tried once more as he tried before And that time did not fail.
15.Pay goodly heed，all ye who read，And beware of saying，“I can’t；”
‘Tis a cowardly word，and apt to lead To idleness，folly，and want.
16.Whenever you find your heart despair Of doing some goodly thing，Con over this strain，try bravely again，And remember the spider and king.
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND
1.The stately homes of England！
How beautiful they stand，Amidst their tall ancestral trees，O’er all the pleasant land！
The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam ；And the swan glides by them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
2.The merry homes of England！
Around their hearths，by night，What gladsome looks of household loveMeet in the ruddy light！
There woman‘s voice flows forth in song，Or childhood’s tale is told，Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.
3.The blessed homes of England！
How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietnessThat breathes from Sabbath hours！Solemn，yet sweet，the church-bell‘s chimeFloats through their woods at morn；All other sounds，in that still time，Of breeze and leaf are born.
4.The cottage homes of England！
By thousands on her plains，They are smiling o’er the silvery brooks And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep，Each from its nook of leaves；And fearless there the lowly sleep，As the bird beneath the eaves.
5.The free，fair homes of England！
Long，long，in hut and hall，May hearts of native proof be reared，To guard each hallowed wall！
And green for ever be the groves，And bright the flowery sod，Where first the child‘s glad spirit loves Its country and its God.
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD
1.They grew in beauty，side by side，They filled one home with glee，-Their graves are severed far and wide，By mount，and stream，and sea！
2.The same fond mother bent at night O’er each fair sleeping brow，She had each folded flower in sight，-Where are those dreamers now？
3.One，‘midst the forests of the West，By a dark stream is laid-The Indian knows his place of rest，Far in the cedar shade.
4.The sea，the blue lone sea，hath one-He lies where pearls lie deep；He was the loved of all，yet none O’er his low bed may weep.
5.One sleeps where southern vines are dressed Above the noble slain；He wrapped his colours round his breast，On a blood-red field of Spain.
6.And one-o‘er her the myrtle showers Its leaves，by soft winds fanned；She faded ’midst Italian flowers-The last of that bright band.
7.And，parted thus，they rest who played Beneath the same green tree；Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee.
8.They that with smiles lit up the hall，And cheered with song the hearth-Alas for love，if thou wert all，And naught beyond，O Earth！
