Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SOMETHING TO DO, by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL Poet's Biography First Line: Something to do, mamma, something to do Last Line: That he has given you 'something to do!' Subject(s): Children; Childhood | ||||||||
'SOMETHING to do, mamma, something to do!' Who has not heard the cry? Something to plan and something to try! Something to do when the sky is blue, And the sun is clear and high; Something to do on a rainy day, Tired of lessons or tired of play; Something to do in the morning walk, Better than merely to stroll and talk. For the fidgety feet, oh, something to do, For the mischievous fingers something too; For the busy thought in the little brain, For the longing love of the little heart, Something easy, and nice, and plain; Something in which they can all take part; Something better than breakable toys, Something for girls, and something for boys! I know, I know, and I'll tell you too, Something for all of you now to do! First, you must listen! Do you know Where the poor sick children go? Think of hundreds all together In the pleasant summer weather, Lying sadly, day by day, Having pain instead of play; No dear mother sitting near, No papa to kiss good-night; Brothers, sisters, playmates dear, All away and out of sight. Little feet that cannot go Where the pink-tipped daisies grow; Little eyes that never see Bud or blossom, bird or tree; Little hands that folded lie As the weary weeks go by. What if you could send them flowers, Brightening up the dismal hours? Then the hospitals for others, For the fathers and the mothers; Where the weary sufferers lie While the weeks go slowly past, Some with hope of cure at last, Some to suffer till they die. Now, while you are scampering free, In your happy spring-tide glee, They are lying sadly there, Weak and sickoh, don't you care? Don't you want to cheer each one? Don't you wish it could be done? Then the poor old people too, In the dreary workhouse-room, Nothing all day long to do, Nothing to light up the gloom! Older, weaker, every day, All their children gone away; Nothing pleasant, nothing bright, For the dimming, aching sight. Would it not be nice to send Nosegays by some loving friend? Then if you could only see Where so many thousands live, All in sin and misery, Dirt and noise and poverty, What, oh what would you not give, Just some little thing to do That might do a little good! Don't you want to help them too? I will tell you how you could! Gather flowers for Jesus' sake, For a loving hand to take Into all those dreadful places, Bringing smiles to haggard faces, Bringing tears to hardened eyes; Bringing back the memories Of the home so long ago Left for wickedness and woe, Of the time, so far away, When they learned to sing and pray. Oh, you cannot guess the power Of a little simple flower! And yet the message they should bear, Of God our Father's love and care, Is never really read aright Without the Holy Spirit's light; Without the voice of Jesus, heard In His own sweet and mighty word. And so we never send the flowers With only messages of ours; But every group of buds and bells The story of salvation tells. Let every little nosegay bring Not only fragrance of the Spring, But sweeter fragrance of His Name, Who saves and pardons, soothes and heals, The living Saviour, still the same, Who every pain and sorrow feels. The little texts are sweeter far Than lily-bell or primrose star; And He will help you just to choose The very words that He will use. To find them out and make a list Of promise-words, so strong and bright, So full of comfort and of light, That all their meaning can't be missed! Think how every one may be God's own message from above To some little girl or boy, Changing sadness into joy, Soothing some one's dreadful pain, Making some one glad again, With His comfort and His love! Calling them to Jesus' feet, Showing them what He has done! Darlings, will it not be sweet If He blesses only one? Only one? Nay, ask Him still, Ask Him every one to bless! He can do it, and He will; Do not let us ask Him less! Now then, set to work at once, If you're not a thorough dunce! Cut the little holders squarely, Keep the edges smooth and straight: Now the paint-box: artists bold! Paint the borders firm and fairly With your prettiest red or gold! Easy this, at any rate. Now for writingclearest, neatest, (Or it may be gently hinted, Better still if neatly printed.) Tracing words the strongest, sweetest, Words that must and will avail, Though the loveliest blossoms fail. Then away, away, the first fine day! Follow the breeze that is out at play, Follow the bird and follow the bee, Follow the butterfly flitting free, For I think they know Where the sweetest wildflowers grow; Bluebells in the shady dingle, Where the violet-odors mingle; Where the fairy primrose lamp Seems to light the hawthorn shade; Orchis in the meadow damp, Cowslip in the sunny glade. (But not the pale anemone, For that will fade so speedily.) Hedge and coppice, lane and field, Gather all the store they yield! Buttercups and daisies too, Though so little prized by you, Will be gold and silver treasure, In their power of giving pleasure To the poor in city alleys, Far away from hills and valleys, Who have never seen them grow Since their childhood, long ago; Or to children pale and small, Who never saw them grow at all! And don't forget the fair green leaves That have their own sweet tales to tell, And waving grass that humbly weaves The emerald robe of bank and dell. Is there some one at home who cannot go To gather the flowers as they grow? Then there is plenty for her to do In making the nosegays up for you; Getting them ready to travel away, In time for the work of the coming day. But oh, how busy you will be When the packing must be done! Oh, the bustle and the glee, Will it not be famous fun? And when the box is gone away, The pleasure need not all be past, I think it will not be the last! Just set to work another day! And send some more From the beautiful store Which God keeps sending you fresh and new, And thank Him too That He has given you 'SOMETHING TO DO!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN CHILDREN SELECTING BOOKS IN A LIBRARY by RANDALL JARRELL COME TO THE STONE ... by RANDALL JARRELL THE LOST WORLD by RANDALL JARRELL A SICK CHILD by RANDALL JARRELL CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS IN CHILDHOOD by DONALD JUSTICE THE POET AT SEVEN by DONALD JUSTICE CONSECRATION HYMN by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL I DID THIS FOR THEE! WHAT HAST THOU DONE FOR ME? by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL A BIRTHDAY GREETING TO MY FATHER, 1860 by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL |
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