The world is so full of a number of things,
I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.

THE SUN’S TRAVELS.

The sun is not abed, when I
At night upon my pillow lie;
Still round the earth his way he takes,
And morning after morning makes.

While here at home, in shining day,
We round the sunny garden play,
Each little Indian sleepy-head
Is being kissed and put to bed.

And when at eve I rise from tea,
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;
And all the children in the West
Are getting up and being dressed. 
MY BED IS A BOAT.

My bed is like a little boat;
 Nurse helps me in when I embark;
She girds me in my sailor’s coat
 And starts me in the dark.

At night, I go on board and say
 Good-night to all my friends on shore;
I shut my eyes and sail away
 And see and hear no more.

And sometimes things to bed I take,
 As prudent sailors have to do;
Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake,
 Perhaps a toy or two.

All night across the dark we steer;
 But when the day returns at last,
Safe in my room, beside the pier,
 I find my vessel fast.

THE SWING.

How do you like to go up in a swing,
  Up in the air so blue? 
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
  Ever a child can do! 
Up in the air and over the wall,
  Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
  Over the countryside—­

Till I look down on the garden green,
  Down on the roof so brown—­
Up in the air I go flying again,
  Up in the air and down!

* * * * *

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
Guard the bed that I lie on! 
Four corners to my bed,
Four angels round my head;
One to watch, one to pray,
And two to bear my soul away.

* * * * *

Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
  How does your garden grow? 
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
  And pretty maids all in a row.

* * * * *

  Old King Cole
  Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three. 
Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers. 
  Oh, there’s none so rare,
  As can compare
With old King Cole and his fiddlers three!

MOTHER HUBBARD AND HER DOG

Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard,
  To get her poor dog a bone;
But when she came there,
The cupboard was bare,
  And so the poor dog had none.

She went to the baker’s
  To buy him some bread;
But when she came back,
  The poor dog was dead.