O! don’t you wish that you were me?

XXIX

THE SUN’S TRAVELS

The sun is not a-bed when I

The

At night upon my pillow lie;

Still round the earth his way he takes,

And morning after morning makes.

While here at home, in shining day,

We round the sunny garden play,

Each little Indian sleepy-head

Is being kissed and put to bed.

And when at eve I rise from tea,

Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea,

And all the children in the West

Are getting up and being dressed.

XXX

THE LAMPLIGHTER

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;

My

 Prev. P 46/379 next