Comes a lisping little beauty,

Scarce five summers old;

Baby voice and blue eyes pleading,

"Please, misth, I'm stho cold!"

Little one, the world is chilly,

All too cold for thee;

From its storms "Our Father" shield thee,

And thy refuge be.

While I turn to caution Johnny

Not to make such noise;

Mary parses: "Earth's an adverb,

In the passive voice."

Well, indeed, it must be passive,

Else it is not clear

How such open language-murder,

Goes unpunished here.

"Second Reader Class" reciting—

"Lesson verse or prose?"

None in all the class is certain;

Each one thinks he knows.

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