As I heard the mother-bird's moan,
And looked at the grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest she had
taken such pains to make,
And her three little children dead, and as cold as stone.
Mother said, and it's sadly true,
"There are some wrong things one can never undo."
And nothing that we could do or say
Would bring life back to the birds that day.

The bitterest tears that we could weep
Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff cold sleep.
But then,
We--Susan and Jem and I--mean never to be so selfish, and wilful,
and cruel again.
And we three have buried those other three
In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of
the willow tree.
And all the leaves which its branches shed
We think are tears because they are dead.




DOLLY'S LULLABY.

A NURSERY RHYME


Hush-a-by, Baby! _Your_ baby, Mamma,
No one but pussy may go where you are;