And O, come here, come here and look! 
      How fast it runs along!—­
    Here is a cunning little brook;
      O, hear its pretty song!

    I know ’tis glad the winter’s gone
      That kept it all so still,
    For now it merrily runs on,
      And goes just where it will.

    I feel just like the brook, I know;
      It says, it seems to me,—­
    “Good by, cold weather, ice, and snow;
      Now girls and brooks are free.”

    I love to think of what you said,
      Mother, to me last night,
    Of this great world that God has made,
      So beautiful and bright.

    And now it is the happy spring
      No naughty thing I’ll do;
    I would not be the only thing
      That is not happy, too.

SPRING.

    Hark! the little birds are singing,—­
      Winter’s gone and summer’s near;
    See, the tender grass is springing,
      And the flowers will soon be here.

    Who made the winter and the spring? 
      Who painted all the flowers? 
    Who taught the little birds to sing,
      And made these hearts of ours?

    O, ’tis God! how good he is! 
      He does every blessing give;
    All this happy world is his,—­
      Let us love him while we live.

THE LITTLE BOY’S GOOD-NIGHT.

    The sun is hidden from our sight,
      The birds are sleeping sound;
    ’Tis time to say to all, “Good night!”
      And give a kiss all round.

    Good night! my father, mother, dear,
      Now kiss your little son;
    Good night! my friends, both far and near,
      Good night to every one.

    Good night! ye merry, merry birds,
      Sleep well till morning light;
    Perhaps if you could sing in words,
      You would have said, “Good night!”

    To all my pretty flowers, good night! 
      You blossom while I sleep;
    And all the stars, that shine so bright,
      With you their watches keep.

    The moon is lighting up the skies,
      The stars are sparkling there;
    ’Tis time to shut our weary eyes,
      And say our evening prayer.

THE SHEPHERD’S SABBATH-SONG.

Translated from the German of Uhland.

      This is the Sabbath day! 
    In the wide field I am alone. 
    Hark! now one morning bell’s sweet tone,—­
      Now it has died away.

      Kneeling I worship Thee;
    Sweet dread doth o’er my spirit steal,
    From whispering sounds of those who kneel,
      Unseen, to pray with me.

      Around and far away,
    So clear and solemn is the sky,
    It seems all opening to my eye;
      This is the Sabbath day!

TO SPRING.