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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EASY LESSONS, by PHOEBE CARY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Come, little children, come with me Last Line: So plain that a child can read them. Subject(s): Teaching & Teachers; Educators; Professors | |||
COME, little children, come with me, Where the winds are singing merrily, As they toss the crimson clover; We'll walk on the hills and by the brooks, And I'll show you stories in prettier books Than the ones you are poring over. Do you think you could learn to sing a song, Though you drummed and hummed it all day long, Till hands and brains were aching, That would match the clear, untutored notes That drop from the pretty, tender throats Of birds, when the day is breaking? Did you ever read, on any page, Though written with all the wisdom of age, And all the truth of preaching, Any lesson that taught you so plain Content with your humble work and gain, As the golden bee is teaching? For see, as she floats on her airy wings, How she sings and works, and works and sings, Never stopping nor staying; Showing us clearly what to do To make of duty a pleasure, too, And to make our work but playing. Do you suppose that a book can tell Maxims of prudence, half so well As the little ant, who is telling To man, as she patiently goes and comes, Bearing her precious grains and crumbs, How want is kept from the dwelling? Whatever a story can teach to you Of the good a little thing may do, The hidden brook is showing, Whose quiet way is only seen Because of its banks, so fresh and green, And the flowers beside it growing. If we go where the golden lily grows, Where, clothed in raiment fine, she glows Like a king in all his glory, And ponder over each precious leaf, We shall find there, written bright and brief, The words of a wondrous story. We shall learn the beautiful lesson there That our Heavenly Father's loving care, Even the lily winneth; For rich in beauty thus she stands, Arrayed by his gracious, tender hands, Though she toileth not, nor spinneth. There isn't a blossom under our feet, But has some teaching, short and sweet, That is richly worth the knowing; And the roughest hedge, or the sharpest thorn, Is blest with a power to guard or warn, If we will but heed its showing. So do not spoil your happy looks By poring always over your books, Written by scholars and sages; For there's many a lesson in brooks or birds, Told in plainer and prettier words Than those in your printed pages. And yet, I would not have you think No wisdom comes through pen and ink, And all books are dull and dreary; For not all of life can be pleasant play, Nor every day a holiday, And tasks must be hard and weary. And that is the very reason why I would have you learn from earth and sky Their lessons of good, and heed them: For there our Father, with loving hand, Writes truths that a child may understand, So plain that a child can read them. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CORRESPONDENCE-SCHOOL INSTRUCTOR SAYS GOODBYE TO HIS POETRY STUDENTS by GALWAY KINNELL GRATITUDE TO OLD TEACHERS by ROBERT BLY TWO RAMAGES FOR OLD MASTERS by ROBERT BLY ON FLUNKING A NICE BOY OUT OF SCHOOL by JOHN CIARDI HER MONOLOGUE OF DARK CREPE WITH EDGES OF LIGHT by NORMAN DUBIE OF POLITICS, & ART by NORMAN DUBIE SEVERAL MEASURES FOR THE LITTLE LOST by NORMAN DUBIE A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND by PHOEBE CARY |
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