Poem – 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. 

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