Little Girls Must Not Fret

What is it that makes little Emily cry? Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye: There­ -- lay down your head on my bosom­ -- that's right, And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.

What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play? Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away; But do not be fretful, my darling; you know Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.

She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there­ Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare: That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before. Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more.