The little Louisa I told you about, who wrote verses and stories in her diary, used to like to play that she was a princess, and that her kingdom was her own mind.When she had unkind or dissatisfied thoughts, she tried to get rid of them by playing they were enemies of the kingdom; and she drove them out with soldiers; the soldiers were patience, duty, and love.It used to help Louisa to be good to play this, and I think it may have helped make her the splendid woman she was afterward.Maybe you would like to hear a poem she wrote about it, when she was only fourteen years old.It will help you, too, to think the same thoughts.
From Louisa M.Alcott's Life, Letters, and Journals (Little, Brown& Co.).Copyright, 1878, by Louisa M.Alcott.Copyright, 1906, by J.S.P.Alcott.
A little kingdom I possess, Where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task Of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me, A wayward will misleads, And selfishness its shadow casts On all my words and deeds.
How can I learn to rule myself, To be the child I should, Honest and brave, nor ever tire Of trying to be good? How can I keep a sunny soul To shine along life's way? How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day?
Dear Father, help me with the love That casteth out my fear, Teach me to lean on thee, and feel That thou art very near,That no temptation is unseen, No childish grief too small, Since thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all.
I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win, Nor seek to conquer any world, Except the one within.Be thou my guide until I find, Led by a tender hand, Thy happy kingdom in MYSELF, And dare to take command.
PICCOLA
From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children Houghton, Mifflin & Co.).
Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear What happened to Piccola, children dear? 'T is seldom Fortune such favor grants As fell to this little maid of France.
'Twas Christmas-time, and her parents poor Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, Striving with poverty's patient pain Only to live till summer again.
No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they When dawned the morning of Christmas-day; Their little darling no joy might stir, St.Nicholas nothing would bring to her!
But Piccola never doubted at all That something beautiful must befall Every child upon Christmas-day, And so she slept till the dawn was gray.
And full of faith, when at last she woke, She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; Such sounds of gladness filled all the air, 'T was plain St.Nicholas had been there!
In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild: Never was seen such a joyful child."See what the good saint brought!" she cried, And mother and father must peep inside.
Now such a story who ever heard? There was a little shivering bird! A sparrow, that in at the window flew, Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe!
"How good poor Piccola must have been!" She cried, as happy as any queen, While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed, And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.
Children, this story I tell to you, Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true.In the far-off land of France, they say, Still do they live to this very day.
