FAVOURITE POETRY: LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT FRET

What is it that makes little Emily cry? 
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye: 
There–lay down your head on my bosom–that's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.

What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play?
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away;
But do not be fretful, my darling; you know
Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.

She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there–
Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare:
That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before.
Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more.

FAVOURITE POETRY: DISAPPOINTMENT

THE DISAPPOINTMENT

By Jane Taylor

In tears to her mother poor Harriet came, 
  Let us listen to hear what she says:
"O see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, 
  We cannot go out in the chaise.
"All the week I have long'd for this holiday so,
  And fancied the minutes were hours;
And now that I'm dress'd and all ready to go,
  Do look at those terrible showers! "

"I'm sorry, my dear, " her kind mother replied,
  The rain disappoints us to-day;
But sorrow still more that you fret for a ride,
  In such an extravagant way.

"These slight disappointments are sent to prepare
  For what may hereafter befall;
For seasons of real disappointment and care,
  Which commonly happen to all.

"For just like to-day with its holiday lost,
  Is life and its comforts at best:
Our pleasures are blighted, our purposes cross'd,
  To teach us it is not our rest.

"And when those distresses and crosses appear,
  With which you may shortly be tried,
You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear
  On merely the loss of a ride."