The following poem was written by a woman who was born in New York City in 1838 and was the editor of a magazine for children. This poem was included in the McGuffey Reader for schoolchildren in the 19th century. The McGuffey Readers were designed not only to teach children to read, write, and speak clearly, but to practice manners and Christian values. The words in the poem teach children how to overcome the common tendencies of moping and pouting, and how to take control of our moods and temperament, how to handle disappointment, looking on the bright side and making the best of things. Although your child may not understand this poem the first time, read it aloud often, and you will both find lessons that can be applied all your lives.

Jeannette and Jo

1.
Two Girls I know: Jeannette and Jo,
And one is always moping;
The other lassie, come what may,
Is ever bravely hoping.

2.
Beauty of face and girlish grace
Are theirs, for joy or sorrow;
Jeannette takes brightly every day,
And Jo dreads each tomorrow.

3.
One early morn they watched the dawn--
I saw them stand together;
Their whole day's sport, 'twas very plain,
Depended on the weather.

4.
"'Twill storm!" cried Jo. Jennette spoke low:
"Yes, but 'twill soon be over."
And, as she spoke, the sudden shower
Came, beating down the clover.

5.
"I told you so!" cried angry Jo:
"It always is a-raining!"
Then hid her face in dire despair,
Lamenting and complaining.

6.
But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet,--
I tell it to her honor,
Looked up and waited til the sun
Came streaming in upon her.

7.
The broken clouds sailed off in crowds,
Across a sea of glory.
Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing in--
Which ends my simple story.

8.
Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine,
The hopeful are the gladdest;
And doubt and dread, children, believe
Of all things are the saddest.

9.
In morning's light, let youth be bright;
Take in the sunshine tender;
Then, at the close, shall life's decline
Be full of sunset splendor.

10.
And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette,
To shun all weak complaining;
And not, like Jo, cry out too soon--
"It always is a-raining!"

~ Mary Mapes Dodge

The Swing How do you like to go up in the air, Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantness thing Ever a child can do! Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, River and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside-- Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown-- Up in the air I go flying again, Up in the air and down! ~ Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) About the Poet Memorizing Robert Louis Stevenson's poetry will create a love in you for true poetry, consisting of rhythm, rhyme and meter. These poems have the principles of optimism and cheerfulness, which will fill your heart. Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1850. When he was a student, he read good authors in literature and wrote about the beautiful things he saw. He even edited his own magazine called "The Schoolboy's Magazine," which he passed around the neighborhood. These contained stories of shipwrecks and heroes and adventures. During his lifetime he was often plagued with illness. He visited California and Switzerland in an attempt to get in a better climate. Even throughout his illness, he was able to sit up in bed and write about beautiful countries and adventures, including books like Treasure Island and Kidnapped. In 1887 Mr. Stevenson went to America with his wife and mother, and later he sailed to the South Seas and lived in Samoa until the end of his life. His poetry teaches us to think about what we see, hear, smell, taste and touch. In the poem above, "The Swing," we can just feel the air in our lungs as we go up in a swing, see the details of the world from the swing. It is a poem worth memorizing for every child, perhaps, while swinging! On Being Brought From Africa to America Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, Taught my benighted soul to understand That there's a God, That there's a Saviour, too: Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. Some view our sable race with scornful eye: "Their color is a diabolic die." Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain, May be refined, and join th' angelic train. ~ Phillis Wheatley [Note: The first published black woman poet in America was a young woman named Phillis Wheatley. She began publishing poetry at the age of 13. Her poetry reflects a reverance for the Bible and a love for America. Although she came to America as a slave and was given to Mrs. Wheatley as a personal helper, she quickly learned to read and write under her instruction. The Bible was her main textbook, and most of her poetry reflects her awe and respect for the Scriptures. Other poems of Phillis Wheatley are such titles as "Thoughts on the Works of Providence" and "On Virtue." Her poetry was published in a book in England, called "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral." You can read more about Phillis Wheatley on the web at this link. There is a campaign underway today by the scions of political correctness to eliminate Wheatley's work from American textbooks and poetry compendiums. The pc crowd seems to believe that honoring the accomplishments of a black woman poet amounts to racism or insensitivity. Squashing black history does nothing to help African Americans, rather it degrades them by insisting that their history remain a blank. We here at L.A.F. stand up for the heritage of all Americans and believe they have a right to know where they came from and what their ancestors did. To see our statement against racism, visit our Controversial Topics section.] Hero of the Hour Frederick Morgan Buy This Art Print At AllPosters.com The Whole Duty of Children A child should always say what's true And speak when he is spoken to, And behave mannerly at table: At least so far as he is able. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson In My Nursery In my nursery as I sit, To and fro the children flit: Rosy Alice, eldest born, Rosalind, like summer morn, Sturdy Hal, as brown as berry, Little Julia, shy and merry, John the King, who rules us all, And the Baby, sweet and small. Flitting, flitting to and fro, Light they come and light they go: And their presence fair and young Still I weave into my song. Here rings out their merry laughter, Here their speech comes tripping after: Here their pranks, their sportive ways, Flash along the lyric maze, Till I hardly know, in fine, What is theirs and what is mine: Can but say, through wind and weather, They and I are wrought together. ~ Laura E. Richards Golden Hours by Elsley Follow the Leader Frederick Morgan You May Order This Art Print through AllPosters.com The Barefoot Boy Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned up pantaloons, And they merry, whistled tunes; With thy lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy,-- I was once a barefoot boy! ~ John Greenleaf Whittier Like Mother, Like Son Do you know that your soul is of my soul such a part, That you seem to be fibre and core of my heart? None other can pain me as you, dear, can do, None other can please me or praise me as you. Remember the world will be quick with its blame If shadow or stain ever darken your name. "Like mother, like son" is a saying so true The world will judge largely the "mother" by you. Be yours then the task, it task it shall be, To force the proud world to do homage to me. Be sure it will say, when its verdict you've won, "She reaped as she sowed. Lo! This is her son!" ~ Margaret Johnston Grafflin Mrs. Maguire and Her Son Sir Thomas Lawrence You Can Order This Art Print from AllPosters.com Motherhood Louis-Emile Adan You Can Order This Art Print from AllPosters.com My Mother Who fed me from her gentle breast And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my Cheek sweet kisses prest? My mother. When sleep forsook my open eye, Who was it sung sweet lullaby? And rocked me that I should not cry? My mother. When pain and sickness made me cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye And wept, for fear that I should die? My mother. Who ran to help me when I fell And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the part to make it well? My mother. Who taught my infant lips to pray, To love God's holy word and day, And walk in wisdom's pleasant way? My mother. ~ Jane Taylor (Here are a few verses of a poem that will help your child to look for opportunity in failure and not to envy other's good fortune. Lessons in poetic form are much easier to learn because of the rhythm. Use it often in your life!) Suppose Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get; Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret? And wouldn't it be wiser, Than waiting like a dunce, To go to work in earnest And learn the thing at once? Suppose some boys have a horse, And some a coach and pair; Will it tire you less while walking To say, "It isn't fair?" And wouldn't it be nobler To keep your temper sweet And in your heart be thankful You can walk upon your feet? Suppose the world doesn't please you. Nor the way some people do; Do you think the whole creation Will be altered just for you? And isn't it, my boy or girl, The wisest, bravest plan, Whatever comes, or doesn't come, To do the best you can? ~ Phoebe Cary Golden Hours Arthur John Elsley You Can Order This Art Print from AllPosters.com Mother and Child Adolphe William Bouguereau Buy This Art Print At AllPosters.com Where did you come from, Baby dear? Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get your eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than anyone knows. Whence that three-corner'd smile of bliss? Three angles gave me at once a kiss. Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into hooks and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs wings. How did they all come just to be you? God thought of me, and so I grew. God thought of you, and so I am here. ~ George MacDonald. Be Good, Sweet Maid My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast forever One grand, sweet song. ~ Charles Kingsley Picking Flowers for a Posy Charles Haigh-Wood You Can Order This Art Print from AllPosters.com Birds Nest the Eastman Johnson You Can Order This Art Print from AllPosters.com She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition sent To be a moment's ornament. Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too! Her household motions light and free And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveler between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength and skill; A perfect woman, nobly planned To warn, to comfort and command: And yet a spirit still and bright With something of angelic light. ~William Wordsworth (1770-1850) Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall o'the snow Before the soil hath smutched it? Have you felt the wool o'the beaver? Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt o'the bud o'the brier? Or the nard i'the fire? Or have tasted the bag o'the bee? Oh so white! Oh so soft! Oh so sweet is she! ~Ben Jonson (1573-1637) The Painters Honeymoon Frederic Leighton You Can Order This Art Print from AllPosters.com Detail from The Tempest by John William Waterhouse Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea. But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep, Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell! And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. ~Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) My Wife Trusty, dusky, vivid, true, With eyes of gold and bramble-dew, Steel true and blade-straight, The Great Artificer Made my mate. Honour, anger, valour, fire, A love that life could never tire, Death quench or evil stir, The mighty master Gave to her. Tender, tender, comrade, wife, A fellow-farer true through life, Heart-whole and soul-free, The August Father gave to me. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94) A Beauty by Millais Woman with Roses by Hobson To a Young Lady Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-- Silent and chaste, she steals along, Far from the world's gay, busy throng: With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes; Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, And Heaven reflected in her face. ~ William Cowper (1731-1800) I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies’ skirts across the grass-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song: ~ Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) Windswept by John Waterhouse Lady Lydia Speaks | Manners | Letter Writing | Art, Literature and Music | Homemaking | Feminine Dress Hospitality | Back to L.A.F. Home | Join L.A.F. | Send Feedback