GOOD-CHILDREN STREET

THERE'S a dear little home in Good-Children

street-

My heart turneth fondly to-day

Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet

Make sweetest of music at play;

Where the sunshine of love illumines each face

And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.

For dear little children go romping about

With dollies and tin tops and drums,

And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout
Till bedtime too speedily comes!

Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet
With little folk living in Good-Children street.
See, here comes an army with guns painted red,
And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;
The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead

On a stick-horse that prances and snorts!
Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet—
Nice make-believe soldiers-in Good-Children

street.

Good-Children Street

And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about

Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill,

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For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out

And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill.

Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet,

Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children

street.

'T is so the dear children go romping about
With dollies and banners and drums,
And I venture to say they are sadly put out
When an end to their jubilee comes:

Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet
With little folk living in Good-Children street!

But when falleth night over river and town,
Those little folk vanish from sight,

And an angel all white from the sky cometh down

And guardeth the babes through the night, And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet To the dear little people in Good-Children street.

Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care,

Though poverty fall to my lot,

Though toil and vexation be always my share,
What care I—they trouble me not!

This thought maketh life ever joyous and sweet: There's a dear little home in Good-Children

street.

KRINKEN

KRINKEN was a little child,

It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim

Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore

For the summer on the shore.

Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.

"Krinken," said the maiden Nis,
"Let me have a little kiss,-
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer lands that be
Down within the silver sea."

Krinken

Krinken was a little child-
By the maiden Nis beguiled

Hand in hand with her went he,
And 't was summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him—
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.

Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter where that little child

Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 't is summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,-
Summer, summer evermore,—

It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.

Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep;
His fair face lifts from the sea,
His dear voice calls out to me,-
These my dreams of summer be.

Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;

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Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-

Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,—

It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.

NORSE LULLABY

THE sky is dark and the hills are white As the storm-king speeds from the north

to-night,

And this is the song the storm-king sings, As over the world his cloak he flings:

"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; " He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: Sleep, little one, sleep."

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On yonder mountain-side a vine

Clings at the foot of a mother pine;