164 SONGS FOR THE

 

 

LIT.LE L.ARY.

Before the bright sun rises over the hill,

In the cornfields poor Mary is seen,
Impatient her little blue apron to fill

With the few scattered ears she can glean.

She never looks off, nor goes out of her place
To play, nor to idle, nor chat,
Except, now and then, just to wipe her warm
face,
And fan herself with her straw hat.

“Why don’t you leave off, as the others have
done,
And sit with them under the tree?
I fear you will faint in the beams of the sun ;
How weary and hot you must be.”

“QO, no; my dear mother lies sick in her bed,
Too feeble to spin or to knit;

My poor little brothers are crying for bread,
And yet we can’t give them a bit.

“Then could I be idle, or merry, or play,
While they are so hungry and ill?

Ah no, I had rather work hard all the day,
My little blue apron to fill.”