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“You are old, father William,” the young man cried,

“And life must be hast’ning away;

You are cheerful and love to converse upon death;

Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“I am cheerful, young man,” father William replied,

“Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember’d my God!

And He hath not forgotten my age.”

Resolution and Independence (Excerpt)

by Wordsworth

My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;

And hope that is unwilling to be fed;

Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;

And mighty Poets in their misery dead.

—Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,

My question eagerly did I renew,

“How is it that you live, and what is it you do?”

He with a smile did then his words repeat;

And said that, gathering leeches, far and wide

He traveled; stirring thus about his feet

The waters of the pools where they abide.

“Once I could meet with them on every side;

But they have dwindled long by slow decay;

Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may.”

While he was talking thus the lonely place,

The old Man’s shape, and speech—all troubled me:

In my mind’s eye I seemed to see him pace

About the weary moors continually,

Wandering about alone and silently.

While I these thoughts within myself pursued,

He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.

And soon with this he other matter blended,

Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind,

But stately in the main; and, when he ended,

I could have laughed myself to scorn to find

In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.

“God,” said I, “be my help and stay secure;

I’ll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!”

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

(Anonymous)

Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.

Sally Come Up (Excerpt)

(Anonymous)

Sally come up! oh, Sally go down!

Oh, Sally come twist you heel around,

The old man he’s gone down to town,

Oh Sally come down the middle.

The Sluggard

by Isaac Watts

’Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,

“You have wak’d me too soon, I must slumber again.”

As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,

Turns his sides and his shoulders and his heavy head.

“A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;”

Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number,

And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands,

Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.

I pass’d by his garden, and saw the wild brier,

The thorn and the thistle grown broader and higher;

The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;

And his money still wastes till be starves or he begs.

I made him a visit, still hoping to find

That he took better care for improving his mind:

He told me his dream, talked of eating and drinking;

But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.

Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,”

This man’s a picture of what I might be:

But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,

Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.

Speak Gently (Excerpt)

by G.W. Langford

Speak gently to the little child!

Its love be sure to gain;

Teach it accents soft and mild;

It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best they may,

’Tis full of anxious care!

The Spider and the Fly

by Mary Howitt

“Will you walk into my parlor?”

Said a spider to a fly;

’Tis the prettiest little parlor

That ever you did spy.

The way into my parlor

Is up a winding stair,

And I have many pretty things

To show when you are there.”

“Oh, no, no!” said the little fly,

“To ask me is in vain;

For who goes up your winding stair

Can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary

With soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?”

Said the spider to the fly.

“There are pretty curtains drawn around,

The sheets are fine and thin;

And if you like to rest awhile,

I’ll snugly tuck you in.