FINGER PLAYS

Then Tall Man high;
And just close by
The Feeble Man doth linger;
And last of all,
So fair and small,
The baby—Little Finger.

Yes! here are the merry, merry Little Men
To join us in our play;
And here are the busy, busy Little Men
To help us work to-day.

These are the big shears to shear the old sheep;
Dear little lambkins their soft wool may keep.

Into the coop the mother must go;
But all the chickens run to and fro,
Peep-peep, peep-peep, peeping away.

Here is some corn in my little dish;
Eat, Mother Hen, eat all that you wish,
Picking, picking, picking away.

Happy we’ll be to see you again,
Dear little chicks and good Mother Hen!
Now good-by, good-by for to-day.

Then the little plant awakes!
Down the roots go creeping.
Up it lifts its little head
Through the brown mould peeping.

High and higher still it grows
Through the summer hours,
Till some happy day the buds
Open into flowers.

Piggie Wig and Piggie Wee,
What was their delight to see
Dinner ready not far off—
Such a full and tempting trough!

And as he watched the birdies
Above the tree-tops fly,
He saw the clouds a-sailing
Across the sunny sky.

He saw the insects playing;
The flowers that summer brings;
He said, “I’ll go tell mamma!
I’ve seen so many things!”

When the little caterpillar
Found his furry coat too tight,
Then a snug cocoon he made him
Spun of silk so soft and light;
Rolled himself away within it—
Slept there day and night.

See how this cocoon is stirring!
Now a little head we spy—
What! Is this our caterpillar
Spreading gorgeous wings to dry?
Soon the free and happy creature
Flutters gayly by.

Here’s the Baby’s trumpet,
Toot-too-toot! too-too!
Here’s the way that Baby
Plays at “Peep-a-boo!”

Here’s a big umbrella—
Keep the Baby dry!
Here’s the Baby’s cradle—
Rock-a-baby-by!

But the big round eyes of the wise old cat
See what the five little mice are at.

Quickly she jumps!—but the mice run away,
And hide in their snug little holes all day.

“Feasting in pantries may be very nice;
But home is the best!” say the five little mice.

“Little squirrel, I will bring
In my basket here
Every day a feast of nuts!
Come, then, squirrel dear.”

But the little squirrel said
From his hollow tree:
“Oh! no, no! I’d rather far
Live here and be free!”

So my cage is empty yet,
And the wheel is still;
But my little basket here
Oft with nuts I fill.

If you like, I’ll crack the nuts,
Some for you and me,
For the squirrel has enough
In his hollow tree.

“Here is some water,
Sparkling and clear;
Come, little sparrows,
Drink without fear.

“If you are tired,
Here is a nest;
Wouldn’t you like to
Come here to rest?”

All the brown sparrows
Flutter away,
Chirping and singing,
“We cannot stay;

“For in the tree-tops,
’Mong the gray boughs,
There is the sparrows’
Snug little house.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Pussy then,
“To the barn we’ll go;
We shall find the swallow there
Flying to and fro.”

So the cat and kittens four
Tried their very best;
But the swallows flying fast
Safely reached the nest!

Home went hungry Mrs. Puss
And her kittens four;
Found their dinner on a plate
By the kitchen door.

As they gathered round the plate,
They agreed ’twas nice
That it could not run away
Like the birds and mice!

For many days the farmer then
Was working with his hoe;
And little Johnny brought the corn
And dropped the kernels—so!

And there they lay, until awaked
By tapping rains that fell,
Then pushed their green plumes up to greet
The sun they loved so well.

Then flocks and flocks of hungry crows
Came down the corn to taste;
But ba-ang!—went the farmer’s gun
And off they flew in haste.

Then grew and grew the corn, until,
When autumn days had come,
With sickles keen they cut it down,
And sang the “Harvest Home.”

But faster turned the millstones
Up in the dusty mill,
And quickly did the miller
With corn the hopper fill.

And faster yet and faster
The heavy stones went round,
Until the golden kernels
To golden meal were ground.

“Now fill the empty hopper
With wheat,” the miller said;
“We’ll grind this into flour
To make the children’s bread.”

And still, as flowed the water,
The mighty wheel went round;
And still, as turned the millstones,
The corn and grain were ground.

And busy was the miller
The livelong day, until
The water-gate he fastened,
And silent grew the mill.

Then in the pan of flour
A little salt she threw;
A cup of yeast she added,
And poured in water, too.
To mix them all together
She stirred with busy might,
Then covered it and left it
Until the bread was light.

More flour then she sifted
And kneaded well the dough,
And in the waiting oven
The loaves of bread did go.
The mother watched the baking,
And turned the loaves, each one,
Until at last, rejoicing,
She said, “My bread is done!”

Press, press, press;
All the milk must be
From the golden butter now
Pressed out carefully.

Pat, pat, pat;
Make it smooth and round.
See! the roll of butter’s done—
Won’t you buy a pound?

Taste, oh! taste,
This is very nice;
Spread it on the children’s bread,
Give them each a slice.

Our stockings we’ll hang,
And while we’re asleep
Then down through the chimney
Will Santa Claus creep.

He’ll empty his pack,
Then up he will come
And, calling his reindeer,
Will haste away home.

Then clap, clap the hands!
And sing out with glee,
For Christmas is coming
And merry are we!