The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mother's Nursery Songs, by Thomas Hastings.
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mother's Nursery Songs, by Thomas Hastings
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Title: The Mother's Nursery Songs
Author: Thomas Hastings
Release Date: April 29, 2013 [EBook #42612]
Language: English
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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by JOHN P. HAVENS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
The author of the following pages was one day conversing
with a lady of some distinction, relative to the importance
of teaching young children to sing, when a question
arose—whether any thing could be done by the mother in
this respect, during the period of the early infancy of her
offspring? This inquiry, with the discussion that ensued,
gave rise to the present publication.
Much, no doubt, can be done in early infancy, on the
mere principle of imitation. Exercises for this purpose
should be exceedingly simple; and, as far as possible,
adapted to the infantile capacity. Great originality will
hardly be expected in such a work as this: yet the materials
here presented are, for the most part, such as have not
before been published. A few extracts, have been furnished
from the writings of Jane Taylor: And for many of the
other little poems, the author is happy to acknowledge his
obligations to several literary friends, among whom are the
Rev. James Alexander, Professor of Rhetoric in Princeton
College, New Jersey, Mrs. Sigourney, of Hartford, Connecticut,
well known as the author of occasional pieces of
great poetic merit, and Mrs. Brown, of Munson, Massachusetts,
the writer of several interesting anonymous hymns
now in general circulation.
The object of the work, as will be readily inferred from
its special characteristics, is to aid mothers in attuning the
voices of their infant offspring, and inspiring them with the
love of vocal music. When the Savior was on earth young
children cried hosanna: and ere he is again revealed in the
glories of the latter day—his praise shall be perfected out
of the mouth of babes and sucklings. Yet they must first
be instructed; and this work should be commenced by
the mother.
It is a point now universally admitted among practical musicians, that all
children, the deaf and dumb excepted, may be taught to sing; and that the
difference of natural talent in this respect is, probably, not greater, than in
reference to other departments of education. The faculty in question is never
truly instinctive, but always in a great measure acquired. Nature furnishes
us with organs, and with powers of perception. Cultivation must do the rest.
The fact that so large a portion of the present generation are unable to sing,
is not to be attributed to physical deficiencies, but to unfortunate circumstances
in the history of early education. In countries where music is continually
taught in the primary schools, the children, as a matter of course, all
learn to sing: and the same experiment, wherever it has been tried in our own
country, has led to the same happy result. This circumstance alone shows
the importance of early cultivation. If music is neglected till years of maturity,
it will, in the majority of instances, continue to be disregarded through life.
Infancy is undoubtedly the most favorable period for commencing the work.
The foundation must be laid then if distinguished excellence is ever afterwards
to be attained.
Adults, with voices of a most unpromising character imaginable, have
sometimes, it is true, been taught to sing. The thing in its nature is not impracticable,
but it is very difficult. It requires time and labor and perseverance,
such as few, comparatively, are found to possess. But with young children
the task is neither difficult nor laborious. The principle chiefly employed in
forming the voice is imitation. The child, under favorable circumstances,
acquires the management of its voice in singing just as it acquires in speaking
the accurate pronunciation of the mother tongue. In both cases it is the imitative
pupil of its mother, or nurse. Mothers should think of this, and not neglect
to stir up the musical gift that is within them. Though that gift should
be small, it might at least suffice to initiate the listening child in the practice
of an important art which would afterwards be more successfully prosecuted.
One who wishes to acquire practical skill as a player on a musical instrument,
must of necessity begin by drawing forth such tones or executing such
passages, as can be mastered with the greatest facility; deferring such as are
more difficult to a later period of cultivation. For all the purposes of vocal
training, the mother may regard her infant child as such an instrument, not
doubting but perseverance will accomplish the desired object.
There is a special season in infancy when children are full of mimickry.
Then, a great portion of their daily employment, while in perfect health, is
like that of the mocking-bird, to be imitating every pleasant sound that falls
within their hearing. Their earliest efforts in this respect will necessarily be
rude, but, by constant practice, their talent is found to improve; while, at the
same time they acquire an increasing fondness for the exercise. Does not
nature evidently point out this period as the precise time for making musical
impressions upon the child that will be strong and indelible?
Let no one suppose that the voice is necessarily injured by early cultivation.
If the little one is not induced to sing too much or too loud for its general
health, there will be nothing to fear. Its voice will improve much in proportion
to its practice; and when, in subsequent years, its intonation becomes[Pg 5]
for a little period broken and discordant, it will be sure to be restored in due
time. Every male child, sooner or later, must pass through such a change, as
the unavoidable result of physical changes in the structure or conformation of
its organs. Daily, moderate practice will be the obvious and certain remedy.
Previous to the period of infantile mimickry above mentioned, the affectionate
mother will often have been soothing her child with the voice of song.
When that period arrives, let her continue the practice in melodies as simple
as those of numbers one and two, in part first of this work. And as the child
begins in the smallest degree to play the mimic, let her in turn become the
imitator, so far as to seize upon every note which has resemblance to music,
and thus encourage the child to repeat its efforts. The mother may thus
gradually draw out and form its voice for music, just as she teaches it the
articulations of the native tongue. The latter process she well understands.
She begins with the simplest syllables only, and as she proceeds with those
that are more difficult, the exercise is carefully adapted to the gradual progress
of the child. Nothing is forced. Every thing is made pleasant and amusing
to the little pupil: and the mother at every step is so amply rewarded for her
assiduity, as to feel that her labor is but another name for delightful recreation.
The same course in reference to singing would be rewarded with the same
success. Though the mother should be quite ignorant of the simplest principles
of the science; her skill in minstrelsy would suffice for the work immediately
before her. Let her also frame some simple phrases of melody, that are
very similar to those she notices in the mimickry of her child, gradually heightening
their character as the child improves its vocal powers. All these exercises
perhaps will be inarticulate; and in some cases the child will make more
rapid progress in song than in speech.
Of all the articulations that fall from the unpractised lips of infancy, the first
and perhaps the sweetest that ever greet the maternal ear, are those of ba, pa,
na, ma, ta, da, followed afterwards by their compounds papa, mama, &c.
The mother should not fail to set them to music in some such clauses as these
that follow
A considerable portion of time, it is true, may elapse, before such clauses as
these will be fully understood; and the child perhaps will incline to substitute
other clauses in their place, and thus become its own composer. The only
important point here, is to see that its tones are rendered musical.
In process of time let the musical passages be augmented somewhat after
the following method, observing to sing them in a gutteral and not in a nasal
manner:
[Pg 6]
The process from such passages as these, to such as constitute the first and
second lullabys of this collection will be easy: and thenceforward less skill
in adaptation will be required.
The preceding directions may suffice for the object before us: if followed
with perseverance the child will begin to sing long before it is old enough to
understand the rules of the art; and this, much to its own amusement and to
the gratification of its affectionate parents. Some may doubt the practicability
of the course here recommended; but certainly it is an easy one. Let
them be persuaded to try it faithfully and perseveringly, and the author will
consent to be responsible for its success.
As the songs under this head will be employed by the mother, chiefly in
soothing her infant to sleep, or in mitigating its sufferings in hours of sickness
or distress, it seems not necessary that all the language should be adapted to
the infantile capacity. It may suffice that the words contain certain easy syllables
or phrases, which, by their perpetual recurrence, make strong impressions
upon the ear of the child. The exercise of singing should, however, be
so managed as to afford pleasure to the child: for otherwise its taste will be
injured.
How gently she sleeps, How silent she keeps, Her breath is as soft as the morn; While every new grace In the dear one I trace, To my bosom in transport is borne.
No sorrow she knows, This hour of repose, Nor hunger nor thirst nor disease; The world with its cares, And temptations and snares, Has never invaded her peace.
I've linger'd awhile, To gaze on that smile, So sweetly that plays on her lips; Some innocent dream Or some heavenly beam, Is visiting her while she sleeps.
My lov'd one awake, Thy slumberings break, My daughter, 'tis time to arise; Thou joy of my heart, A lent blessing thou art, To be given again to the skies.
Safe sleeping on its mother's breast, The smiling babe appears Now sweetly sinking into rest, Now wash'd in sudden tears: Hush, hush, my little baby dear, There's nobody to hurt you here.
Without a tender mother's care The little thing must die; Its chubby hands too feeble are One service to supply: And not a tittle does it know What kind of world it's come into.
Full many a summer sun must glow, And lighten up the skies, Before its tender limbs can grow To any thing of size: And all the while the mother's eye Must every little want supply.
Then surely when each little limb, Shall grow to healthy size; And youth and manhood strengthen him For toil and enterprize, His mother's kindness is a debt He never, never will forget.
Mother dear, the baby cries, Where is the nurse? Every thing that sister tries Makes him only worse. Come, mother, come; Dear mother, come! Every thing that sister tries Makes him only worse.
Mother dear, the baby cries, Is he not ill? Not a thing that brother tries Ever keeps him still. Come, mother, come, Dear mother, come! Not a thing that brother tries Ever keeps him still.
Mother dear, the baby cries, What shall we do? In the cradle here he lies, Waiting for you. Come, mother, come, Dear mother, come! In the cradle here he lies Waiting for you.
The songs of this department are introduced chiefly for children who are
just beginning to entertain a few simple ideas and principles relative to things
around them. The mother should commence with some of the easiest songs,
and afterwards, as she proceeds with the more difficult ones, furnish the words
with an occasional comment.
Up in the morning, up my child, See the sun, how bright and mild; See the dew-drops every one Glist'ning in the sun: Time for the dear one up to spring, While the merry bells do ring.
Quick let me put your clean dress on, For the night is past and gone; Now another day is giv'n, By our Lord in heav'n: Now when the morning air you feel To your heav'nly Keeper kneel.
Praise to the Lord for morning light, Praise for safety through the night, While the birds are singing all, On the Lord we call: Thus in the morning we will praise Our Redeemer all our days.
O wild is thy joy,[2] My affectionate boy, What visions of fancy come o'er thee? Thy spirit so proud, Thy laughter so loud— What transports are glit'ring before thee?
Dost think of a day Thou mayst ramble and play, O'er the meadows, the forests, and mountains? Or in the sweet vale, 'Mong the lilies so pale, By the side of the rills and the fountains?
Some glim'rings of thought Perchance thou hast caught, While thy spirit within thee rejoices, Some simple delight, Some object of sight Or sound in the mingling of voices.
O, brief is thy mirth, For the visions of earth, Like the shadows of noon-day, are flying: But joys that are pure, Shall forever endure, Though earth and its transports are dying.
There was one Little Jack, Not very long back, And 'tis said to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen With his hands at all clean, Nor yet ever clean was his face.
His kind friends were much hurt To see so much dirt, And often and well did they scour; But all was in vain He was dirty again Before they had done it an hour.
When to wash he was sent He reluctantly went With water to splash himself o'er; But he left the black streaks All over his cheeks And made them look worse than before.
All the idle and bad May much like this lad, Be dirty and black, to be sure: But good boys are seen To be decent and clean, Although they are ever so poor.
Ah, why will my dear little girl be so cross, And cry, and look sulky, and pout? To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss: I can't even kiss her without.
You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd: But would you be dirty and foul? Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast, And clear your sweet face from its scowl.
If the water is cold and the comb hurts your head, And the soap has got into your eye,[3] Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said? What good will it do you to cry?
It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet, But only for kindness and care, That I wash you and dress you and make you look neat, And comb out your tanglesome hair.
I don't mind the trouble, if you will not cry, But pay me for all with a kiss, That's right—take the towel and wipe your wet eye: I thought you'd be good after this.
O, poor little robin, so cold and so wet, Say, what are you doing to-day? The winter is coming, then what will you eat? And where are you going to stay?
Your nest is so open, so cold and so poor, You never can live there again; O come, pretty robin, come into our door, We'll shelter you from the cold rain.
We've clean beds to sleep in, and water to drink, And things very nice for your food; Come, come, pretty robin; O, how can you think To fly off again in the wood!
The bird will not listen; but children so young, So hungry, so cold and so wet, May share in my cottage, and join in my song; And they shall have something to eat.
O hear the chickens pip, They will no longer keep Under their mother's wing; And shall I run and catch them? O no, I must not touch them, 'T would be a cruel thing.
She cannot get away, She wishes them to stay Within the little coop: I wish that they were kinder, And not so slow to mind her, So swift away to hop.
Poor hen, she walks about, And struggles to get out, She feels so very sad: I wish that ev'ry chicken Would stop its merry pippin', And run to make her glad.
I'll never run away, Or stop to laugh and play, When mother calls me home: I'll quickly run to meet her, With kindest kisses greet her, Soon as she bids me come.
Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, O, give the baby one; Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, But baby shall have none: Babies are too young to choose; Cherries are too sour to use; But by and by, Made in a pie, No one will them refuse.
Up in the tree Robin I see, Picking one by one; Shaking his bill, Getting his fill, Down his throat they run: Robins want no cherry pie, Quick they eat and off they fly. My little child, Patient and mild, Surely will not cry.
Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, But we will let them fall. Cherries are ripe, Cherries are ripe, But bad for babies small Gladly follow mother's will, Be obedient, soft and still, Waiting awhile, Delighted you'll smile, And joyful eat your fill.
Hark, the bell, Hear it swell, Sounding through the woods and fields, Echoing o'er the hills and dales: 'Tis Sabbath day, Do not stray, Do not work or play.
Hark, the bell, Hear it swell, Sounding through the woods and fields Echoing o'er the hills and dales. 'Tis Sabbath day, Don't delay, Learn the heavenly way.
Hark, the bell, Hear it swell, Sounding through the woods and fields, Echoing o'er the hills and dales, 'Tis Sabbath day, Sing and pray, Listen and obey.
Baby is crying, While mother is trying To make him be happy and still; How shall we relieve him, Or what shall we give him? A top or a whistle or bell?
I wish he were quiet, He makes such a riot That nobody else can be heard; See how he dislikes her, And wickedly strikes her, O baby, how very absurd!
Not love your dear mother And sister and brother, Who always are loving and true! O, be not so naughty, So cross and so haughty, While we are so tender of you.
Dear mother must whip him,[4] In quiet to keep him, If better he will not behave: Why won't he be kinder, And love her and mind her? Then all that trouble he'll save.
O, what a naughty dog is that, To quarrel with the pussy cat, About a little piece of meat That sister gave for them to eat; Pussy too, looks very shy, And lifts her back up very high.
Hark, how he growls and barks at her, See how she raises up her fur; And now he snatches for the piece, And now she's spitting in his face, O for shame! poor dog and cat, To quarrel for a thing like that.
Brothers and sisters should be kind, And no such vile examples mind, While dogs and cats may think it right To quarrel for their appetite: Children always should agree, Both when they eat and when they play.
Oh! don't hurt the dog, poor honest old Tray; What good will it do you to drive him away? Kind treatment is justly his right; Remember how faithful he is to his charge, And barks at the rogues when we set him at large, And guards us by night and by day.
If you are a boy and Tray but a beast, I think it should teach you one lesson at least, You ought to act better than he; And if without reason, or judgment, or sense, Tray does as we bid him and gives no offence How diligent Richard should be!
Songs of instruction are not always the most interesting with regard to taste:
but there are occasional exceptions against this remark; nor does it apply
with the same strictness in regard to young children that it does in reference
to adults. Such songs should be associated with pleasant remarks and
illustrations; and occasionally with such series of questions as may be suggested
by the language which is sung. The songs in this department are
adapted to children who have passed the period of prattling infancy.
He who spread out the sky, That broad blue canopy, Who made the glorious sun, The moon to shine by night, The stars with eye so bright, He made thee, little one.
He who with care doth keep The nested birds that sleep: And when their rest is done, Doth guide them through the sky, And feed them when they cry, He loves thee, little one.
L. H. S.
QUESTIONS.
Who made you?
Who made the sky, the sun, the moon, and the stars?
The moon is very fair and bright, And rises very high; I think it is a pretty sight, To see it in the sky; It shone upon me where I lay, And seem'd almost as bright as day.
The stars are very pretty too, And scatter'd all about; At first there seem a very few, But soon the rest come out: I'm sure I could not count them all They are so very bright and small.
The sun is brighter still than they, He blazes in the skies: I dare not turn my face that way, Unless I shut my eyes: Yet when he shines our hearts revive, And all the trees rejoice and thrive.
God made and keeps them every one By his great power and might; He is more glorious than the sun, And all the stars of light: But when we end our mortal race, The pure in heart shall see his face.
Two good little girls, Marianne and Maria, As happily liv'd as good girls could desire; And though they were neither grave, sullen, nor mute, They seldom or never were heard to dispute.
If one wants a thing that the other could get, They never are scratching or scrambling for it, But each one is willing to give up her right, They'd rather have nothing than quarrel and fight.
If one of them happens to have something nice, Directly she offers her sister a slice; And not like to some greedy children I've known, Who would go in a corner and eat it alone.
When papa or mamma had a job to be done, These good little girls would immediately run, And not stand disputing to which it belong'd, And grumble and fret and declare they were wrong'd.
Whatever occur'd in their work or their play, They were willing to yield, and give up their own way; Then let us all try their example to mind, And always like them, be obliging and kind.
How I love my tender mother, How I love my father dear; How I love my little brother, And my sister so sincere: They are all both kind and true, And they love me dearly too.
Be my neighbor proud or lowly, He shall my affection share; Be he sinful, be he holy, He may claim my earnest prayer: Let me not unfeeling prove, Nor myself too dearly love.
But of all affection giv'n, God on high demands the most; God the Father in the heav'n, God the Son and Holy Ghost: Three in One and One in Three; Be thou all in all to me.
The child may be taught, in connexion with this song, how that "love is
the fulfilling of the law"—love that includes all the characteristics mentioned
in the gospel. The last stanza introduces also the subject of the blessed Trinity,
in such a manner as to invite explanation.
From morning till night it was Lucy's delight, To chatter and talk without stopping; There was not a day but she rattled away, Like water forever a dropping.
As soon as she rose, while she put on her clothes, 'Twas vain to endeavor to still her; Nor once did she lack to continue her clack, Till again she lay down on her pillow.
How very absurd! and have you not heard That much tongue and few brains are connected? That they are suppos'd to think least who talk most? Their wisdom is always suspected.
While Lucy was young, if she'd bridled her tongue, With a little good sense and exertion, Who knows but she might now have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion!
Come let us learn to sing, Faw sol law faw sol law mi faw, Loud let our voices ring, Faw sol law faw sol law mi faw; Let us sing with open sound, With our voices full and round, Faw mi law sol faw law sol faw.
This is the scale so sweet, Faw sol law faw sol law mi faw, Sing it with accent meet, Faw sol law faw sol law mi faw, First ascend in notes so true, Then descend in order too; Faw mi law sol faw law sol faw.
Children should love to sing, Faw sol law faw sol law mi faw, Praise to the heav'nly King, Faw sol law faw sol law mi faw: Let us learn his face to seek, Then aloud his praise we'll speak, Faw, mi, law, sol, faw, law, sol, faw.
The A, B, C, Is pleasant to me, I'm learning it all the day; Whenever I look In a printed book, I See nothing but A, B, C. Sing A, B, C, Sing A, B, C. I See nothing but A, B, C.
I'm glad to know, The fine little row, Of letters both great and small, The D, E, F, G, The M, N, O, P, And the X, Y, Z and all: Sing A, B, C, Sing R, S, T, Sing X, Y, Z and all.
If I can fix These marks twenty-six, In this little careless head; I'll read every book As soon as I look At the letters all over it spread. Sing A, B, C, Sing X, Y, Z, And the letters all over it spread.
I now will learn Them all in turn, The big letters and the small; For how can I spell, Or pronounce them well, Till I shall have learned them all? Sing A, B, C, Sing X, Y, Z, For I'm going to learn them all.
The bees and flies Have nice little eyes, But never can read like me; They crawl in the book, And they seem to look, But they never know A, B, C; Sing A, B, C, Sing A, B, C, They never know A, B, C.
I saw a little lamb to-day, It was not very old; Close by its mother's side it lay, So soft within the fold: It felt no sorrow, pain, or fear, While such a comforter was near.
Sweet little lamb, you cannot know What blessing I have lost: Were you like me, what could you do, Amid the wintry frost? My clothes are thin, my food is poor, And I must beg from door to door.
I had a mother once, like you, To keep me by her side: She cherish'd me and lov'd me too; But soon, alas! she died: Now sorrowful and full of care, I'm lone and weary every where.
My father was not kind to me, He went away from home; I long'd again his face to see, But he would never come: Before he died he would be found Sleeping upon the naked ground.
I must not weep and break my heart, They tell me not to grieve: Sometimes I wish I could depart, And find a peaceful grave: They say such sorrows never come To those who slumber in the tomb.
'Twas thus a little orphan sung, Her lonely heart to cheer; Before she wander'd very long, She found a Savior near: He bade her seek his smiling face And find in heav'n a dwelling place.
O, if I were a robin, I'd soon be on the wing, I'd leave my sighs and sobbin' And sweetly I would sing; And early in each morning I'd fly from tree to tree; And going and returning What pretty things I'd see?
But now I am so lonely, I know not where to stay, My little brother only Is with me day by day: My mother dear was crying When father lay so low: When she herself was dying— I know not what to do.
Our parents are in heaven, Their spirits went above; Their sins were all forgiven, For they the Lord did love: God call'd them to forsake us, And laid them in the dust; But he himself will take us, If in his name we trust.
If Jesus will receive us Within his precious fold; And when he'll please to give us Some pretty wings of gold; Then soon we will be flying Up to that blessed place, Where there is no more crying, So near his smiling face.
A long time ago, when Janett was a child, As thoughtless as others, as giddy and wild; She was sent by her mistress one evening so fair, Where a family circle were kneeling in prayer.
Her young heart was then touch'd, she would afterwards say— "O! that my dear master but knew how to pray;" For she had no father to pray for her soul, No mother to counsel, advise, or control.
One night as the snows drifted deep through the vale, While the bleak whistling wind was all dreary and chill, She again sought the house where she first heard a pray'r, And close to the door held her listening ear.
She heard, as the story of Jesus was read, How he suffer'd below, how for sinners he bled; Tears fell from her eyes like the drops of a show'r, Till sobbings of anguish were heard at the door.
That night did the Lord, by his Spirit, impart, To the penitent child a conversion of heart; Then happy was she, though an orphan and poor, And she never forgot how she knelt at the door.
By the side of a river so clear, They carried the beautiful child, Mid the flags and the bushes, In an ark of bulrushes, They left him so lonely and wild; For the ruffians would come If he tarried at home, And murder that infant so dear.
By the side of the river so clear, The ladies were winding their path, When Pharaoh's daughter Stepp'd into the water Her delicate person to bathe: Before it was dark, She open'd the ark, And found a sweet infant was there.
By the side of the river so clear, That infant was lonely and sad, She took him in pity And thought him so pretty, [Pg 59]And made little Moses so glad, She call'd him her own— Her beautiful son, And sent for some nurse that was near.
Away from the river so clear, They carried the beautiful child; To his own tender mother His sister and brother, And then he look'd happy and smil'd. His mother so good, Did all that she could, To nurse him and teach him with care.
Once more by that river so clear, When Moses was aged and good; He saw the king tremble, Relent and dissemble, And the waters all turning to blood The king would abuse, And trouble the Jews, And turn to the Lord a deaf ear.
And soon by the sea that was red, Stood Moses the servant of God; While in him he confided, The deep was divided, As upward he lifted his rod. The Jews safely cross'd, While Pharaoh's host, Were drown'd in the waters and dead.
And soon on a mountain so high, Stood Moses, all trembling with awe; Mid the lightnings and thunders, And great signs and wonders, For God was then giving his law. The Lord wrote it down, On two tables of stone, Before he went back to the sky.
Once more on a mountain he stood, The last one he ever might see; The prospect was glorious, Where Israel victorious, Would soon over Jordan be free. Then his labors did cease; He departed in peace, And now rests in the heav'nly abode.
Questions and details relating to the history of Moses, are very profitable
and instructive to children. Bible histories, well told, have a powerful influence
upon their minds.
Hark, hark, the voice of spring, Woods and fields with echoes ring, While the birds so sweetly sing; Music floats In joyous notes From many a tuneful string.
Hark, hark, the voice of spring, Busy bees are on the wing, None but drones are slumbering: Children too Should learn to do Every useful thing.
Hark, hark, the voice of spring, From the flowers the breezes bring Many a fragrant offering, Emblem true Of incense due To Zion's glorious king.
Hark, hark, the voice of spring, Trees their branches upward fling, Vines unto their tendrils cling; Infant bands Lift up your hands, Devoutly worshipping.
The music found in the preceding pages, may suffice in some measure for
training and exercising the voices of young children. Care should be taken
that the child pronounces his words with distinctness and precision. The
vowels also should be formed in the throat and not in the mouth or nose. The
manner of uttering the vowels, is that which gives a pleasant or unpleasant
tone of voice to the singer. Properly speaking, we are never to sing the consonants,
but to articulate them instantly, much as in speech, though louder and
with greater precision. We sing only the vowels, and hence our manner of
treating them is almost the only circumstance that gives sweetness and polish
to the voice.
The music which here follows, is not intended for drilling exercises. The
little songs or hymns are strictly devotional; and should as far as practicable,
be accompanied with devotional associations of thought and feeling. This is
a principle of unspeakable importance; and one that ought every where to
pervade the cultivation of devotional song.
The night is dark, the wind is high, And rain is pouring from the sky, There is no moon, The stars are gone, The lamps are out, the fire is down.
How sad and lonely is this night, I cannot see a gleam of light; Awake I keep, And silent weep, While parents dear are fast in sleep.
But there is one who dwells above, Whose looks are bright, whose name is love, His guardian care Is every where, And those who love him need not fear.
Such was the night in Galilee, When the disciples on the sea, Far from the coast, By tempest tost, Expected to be sunk and lost.
The Lord rebuk'd the angry seas, And hush'd the winds and waves to peace, He spake the word, The tempest heard, And own'd the pow'r of Christ the Lord.
Then let the rain in torrents pour, And let the winds in tumult roar; Dark be the night, Yet Christ my light, Around me shines in splendor bright.
And now the day is ending, With all its toil and care: My voice to heav'n ascending Shall offer praise and prayer: The Lord is ever mindful Of those who seek his face; And children weak and sinful, May feel his saving grace.
For all my sin and folly, This day from morn to e'en, I pray the Lord most holy, That I may be forgiv'n. His bleeding love so precious, I now recall to mind: The Lord is ever gracious, And pitiful and kind.
While I, my sins confessing, Implore his pard'ning love; I'll praise him for each blessing Descending from above; Ingratitude, so hateful— O! keep me from that sin; Lord make me truly grateful, And cleanse my soul within.
Happy, happy child am I, On a mother's arms to lie, Or to rest my weary head On a soft and downy bed, Beneath her gentle eye: While she kneels beside me there, Teaching me a holy pray'r.
But the little heathen child, Naked, ignorant and wild, Has no home or downy bed, Where to rest his aching head, Or mother's arms to shield. She no prayer of love can say, Heathen mothers will not pray.
Blessed Savior, now I see, Thou art kinder far to me, And I will not lay my head, On my downy peaceful bed, Till I have pray'd to thee; Thank'd thee for a mother's care, Such as heathen never share.
How fierce the lightning blazes! I hear the thunders roar; Hark! how the wind arises! While clouds their waters pour: But in the Lord confiding Our souls feel no alarm: For he himself is riding Upon the angry storm.
The lightnings are his arrows, The thunders are his voice Yet e'en the feeblest sparrows May safe in him rejoice; The clouds and winds and waters, Obey his sovereign word; Let Zion's sons and daughters Adore th' Almighty Lord.
When lightnings red are streaking, A Father's arm is bar'd; When thunders loud are speaking, A Father's voice is heard: The foes that flee before him, Can never feel his grace; While children that adore him, Shall see his smiling face.
O, Jesus, delight of my soul, My Savior, my Shepherd divine; I yield to thy blessed control, My body and spirit are thine; Thy love I can never deserve, That bids me be happy in thee; My God and my King I will serve, Whose favor is heaven to me.
How can I thy goodness repay, By nature so weak and defil'd? Myself I have given away; O call me thine own little child: And art thou my Father above? Will Jesus abide in my heart? O, bind me so fast with thy love, That I never from thee shall depart.
Hosannas were by children sung, When Jesus was on earth; Then surely we are not too young To sound his praises forth: The Lord is great, the Lord is good; He feeds us from his store, With earthly and with heav'nly food, We'll praise him evermore.
And when to him young children came, He took them in his arms: He bless'd them in his Father's name, And spoke with heav'nly charms: We thank him for his gracious word, We thank him for his love: We'll sing the praises of our Lord, Who reigns in heav'n above.
Before he left this world of woe, On Calvary he died; His blood for us did freely flow Forth from his wounded side; O, then we'll magnify his name Who groan'd and died for us; We'll worship the atoning Lamb, And kneel before his cross.
He rose again and walk'd abroad, And many saw his face: They call'd him the incarnate God, Redeemer of our race: He rose and he ascended high, We'll bow to his command: His glories fill the earth and sky, He sits at God's right hand.
[1] The judicious mother, however fond of her infant son, will not desire him to
understand this sentiment.
[2] The boy alluded to in this instance, is supposed not to be within hearing of
the song.
[3] This process, by the way, is often performed so roughly as to occasion no
inconsiderable pain.
[4] This must of course be understood as the language of affectionate solicitude,
and not as the expression of peevishness or ill natured censure.
[5] The thoughts contained in this song may suggest a profitable method of
teaching the doctrines of native depravity; and salvation through a bleeding
Savior. The pure example of Christ also, when frequently presented to the
infantile mind, operates as a powerful restraint.
[6] In connexion with this song, the ten commandments may be recited, in
such a manner as to show their meaning, and illustrate the thoughts contained
in the hymn.
[7] This is an excellent lesson for children who are prone to be talkative; especially
those who have a little advanced beyond the period of early infancy.
[8] Great care should here be taken, that the sounds of the SCALE are accurately
tuned; and that the suggestions given in the song, in reference to the formation
of the voice, be successfully reduced to practice.
[9] The slurs are applied chiefly to the second stanza.
Obvious typographical errors were repaired, as listed below. Other
apparent archaic spellings, inconsistencies or errors have been retained.
Please note that some of the songs have incorrect or mismatched time
signatures or beats in the bar. These have been retained in the images
but have been silently altered in the midi representations of the music
using the set musical patterns as a guide. Please note that the tempi in
the transcriptions are guidelines, and should be adjusted to suit the
reader's purpose.
Included PNGs were created from scans from the original pages of the book.
Page 27, "litle" has been changed to "little". (Come, drive that long
sob from your dear little breast,...)
Page 28, "willl" has been changed to "will". (The winter is coming, then
what will you eat?)
Page 30, "thy" changed to "they". (... and off they fly.)
Page 32, "wont" changed to "won't". (Why won't he be kinder,...)
Page 33, "unwholsome" changed to "unwholesome". (They are unwholesome
too,...)
Page 52, "A A, C" changed to "A, B, C" for consistency. (I See nothing
but A, B, C.)
Page 57, "ope'ning" changed to "opening". (Its opening leaves disclos'd
to view)
Page 58, "." changed to ",". (By the side of a river so clear,...)
Page 70, the figures of dotted sixteenths with thirty-second notes have
been adjusted in the transcription to dotted eighths with sixteenth
notes.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Mother's Nursery Songs, by Thomas Hastings
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