SONGS FOR THE

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I hate to see her pretty dress
So careless look and tossed,
Her toys all scattered here and there,
Her thread and needle lost.

I hate to see her, at her play,
When little girls have met
To frolic, laugh, and run about,

Grow peevish, cry, and fret.

I hate to hear her tell a lie—
Whats not her own to take;

Mamma’s commands to disobey,
And father’s rules to break.

And now I’ve told you what I hate,
I’ll only stop to say,

Perhaps I'll tell you what I love

Upon some other day.

 

  

WHAT I LOVE.

I love to see a little girl
Rise with the lark so bright;

Bathe, comb, and dress with cheerful face,
Then thank the God of light.

And when she comes to meet mamma,
So fresh and neat and clean,

And asks a kiss from dear papa

With such a modest mien,