Poems for 2nd Graders

Table of Contents

A Mother's Days: Fairy Tales — A Mother's Days: Fairy Tales
by Jessie Willcox Smith

This Is God's Day by Annette Wynne
The Violet by Jane Taylor
Beautiful Faces by Anonymous
The Boy Who Never Told a Lie by Anonymous
All Things Beautiful by Mrs. C. F. Alexander
Friendly Tree, This Is Your Day by Annette Wynne
Loss and Gain by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How doth the little busy bee by Isaac Watts
Dandelion by Nellie M. Garabrant
To Little Wave by Ruby Archer
The Baby by Hugh Miller
The Lamb by William Blake
Saying and Doing by Amos Russel Wells
The Clouds by Anonymous
The Voice of the Grass by Sarah Roberts
The New Year by Anonymous
Gently Falling by Emma Louise Clapp
The Tree by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
The Sailor by Brown
Clouds by Frank Dempster Sherman
Leaves at Play by Frank Dempster Sherman
Swinging on a Birch Tree by Lucy Larcom
Calling the Violet by Lucy Larcom
Obedience by Phoebe Cary
Morning by Anonymous
Now the Day is Over by Sabine Baring-Gould
The Cornfield by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

This Is God's Day

by Annette Wynne

This is God's day that he lent to me
That I may use for good or ill;
Fair and fresh as a day can be
This is God's day that he lent to me.
He took a wave from eternity's sea—
Fashioned a day all blemish-free;
This is God's day that he lent to me.
That I may use for good or ill.
The Violet

by Jane Taylor

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Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
No colours bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused its sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.
"Beautiful Faces"

by Anonymous

Beautiful faces are they that wear
The light of a pleasant spirit there;
Beautiful hands are they that do
Deeds that are noble good and true;
Beautiful feet are they that go
Swiftly to lighten another's woe.
The Boy Who Never Told a Lie

by Anonymous

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Once there was a little boy,
With curly hair and pleasant eye—
A boy who always told the truth,
And never, never told a lie.

And when he trotted off to school,
The children all about would cry,
"There goes the curly-headed boy—
The boy that never tells a lie."

And everybody loved him so,
Because he always told the truth,
That every day, as he grew up,
'Twas said, "There goes the honest youth."

And when the people that stood near
Would turn to ask the reason why,
The answer would be always this:
"Because he never tells a lie."
All Things Bright and Beautiful

by Cecil Frances Alexander

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All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

The purple headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;−

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,−
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day;−

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who hath made all things well.
Friendly Tree, This Is Your Day

by Annette Wynne

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Friendly tree, this is your day,
So we'll stop our work and play
And talk of you,
And all the good things that you do.

Standing still and quiet there,
Sending branches into air,
Making pleasant shade around,
Delving far beneath the ground,
Holding all year safe from harm
Little nests within your arm,
Keeping firmly where you are,
Reaching up to touch a star,
Growing, working, just as I,
Seeking God within the sky.
Loss and Gain

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
How doth the little busy bee

by Isaac Watts

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How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!

How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to storeit well
With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
Dandelion

by Nellie M. Garabrant

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There's a dandy little fellow,
Who dresses all in yellow,
In yellow with an overcoat of green;
With his hair all crisp and curly,
In the springtime bright and early
A-tripping o'er the meadow he is seen.
Through all the bright June weather,
Like a jolly little tramp,
He wanders o'er the hillside, down the road;
Around his yellow feather,
Thy gypsy fireflies camp;
His companions are the wood lark and the toad.

But at last this little fellow
Doffs his dainty coat of yellow,
And very feebly totters o'er the green;
For he very old is growing
And with hair all white and flowing,
A-nodding in the sunlight he is seen.
Oh, poor dandy, once so spandy,
Golden dancer on the lea!
Older growing, white hair flowing,
Poor little baldhead dandy now is he!
To Little Wave

by Ruby Archer

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O little wave, you come from far,
Over the sky-line yonder.
Why do you hurry across the bar
And fight with the wind, I wonder?

Can you be weary of ocean play?
Did the big monsters follow?
Were you afraid that a whale to-day
Your little self would swallow?

There, little wave, come close to land.
Careful! I knew you'd stumble.
There goes your curly head on the sand—
Never you mind—don't grumble.

Here are some playthings I've brought for you,—
Buttercups, daisies, clover.
Now you will stay? Lo—off to the blue!
Gone is my little rover.
The Baby

by Hugh Miller

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No shoes to hide her tiny toes,
No stockings on her feet;
Her little ankles white as snow,
Or early blossoms sweet.

Her simple dress of sprinkled pink;
Her tiny, dimpled chin;
Her rosebud lips and bonny mouth
With not one tooth between.

Her eyes so like her mother's own,
Two gentle, liquid things;
Her face is like an angel's face—
We're glad she has no wings.
The Lamb

by William Blake

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Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee;
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee.
Saying and Doing

It isn't the talk that will count, boys,
But the doing that springs from the talk.
To what will your walking amount, boys.
With no goal at the end of your walk?

– Amos R. Wells
Saying and Doing

“

by Amos R. Wells

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It isn't the talk that will count, boys,
But the doing that springs from the talk.
To what will your walking amount, boys.
With no goal at the end of your walk?

What's the use of a ladder set up, boys,
With the end resting only on air?
What's the use of a nobly filled cup boys,
If no one to drink it is there?

What's the use of a capital plan, boys,
That never is more than a scheme?
He makes a poor, scatter brained man boys,
That begins in his boyhood to dream.

No; talk on and plan as you will, boys,
But remember, if you would succeed.
It isn't the talk that shows skill, boys,
But the end of the talking,—the deed!
The Clouds

by Anonymous

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"Clouds that wander through the sky,
Sometimes low and sometimes high;
In the darkness of the night,
In the sunshine warm and bright.
Ah! I wonder much if you
Have any useful work to do."

"Yes, we're busy night and day,
As o'er the earth we take our way.
We are bearers of the rain
To the grasses, and flowers, and grain;
We guard you from the sun's bright rays,
In the sultry summer days."
The Voice of the Grass

by Sarah Roberts Boyle

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Here I come, creeping, creeping, everywhere;
By the dusty roadside,
On the sunny hillside,
Close by the noisy brook,
In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping, everywhere.

Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere;
All round the open door,
Where sit the aged poor,
Here where the children play,
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping, everywhere.

Here I come, creeping, creeping, everywhere;
You can not see me coming,
Nor hear my low, sweet humming,
For in the starry night,
And the glad morning light,
I come, quietly creeping, everywhere.

Here I come, creeping, creeping, everywhere;
More welcome than the flowers,
In summer's pleasant hours;
The gentle cow is glad,
And the merry birds not sad,
To see me creeping, creeping, everywhere.

Here I come, creeping, creeping, everywhere;
When you're numbered with the dead,
In your still and narrow bed,
In the happy spring I'll come,
And deck your narrow home,
Creeping, silently creeping, everywhere.

Here I come, creeping, creeping, everywhere;
My humble song of praise,
Most gratefully I raise,
To Him at whose command
I beautify the land,
Creeping, silently creeping, everywhere.
The New Year

by Anonymous

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May the year that is dawning
So fresh and so pure,
Be full of the pleasures
That always endure.

The sunshine of love,
The joy of kind deeds,
The brightness of smiles
That the sad world so needs.

The kindly word uttered,
The angry unspoken:
The merry heart's laughter,
To heal the hearts broken.

And when the New Year
Has grown old and gray,
May you give it back spotless
And pure as today.
Gently Falling

by Emma Louise Clapp

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Softly from the sky is falling
Snowflakes white as lilies fair;
Gently to each other calling
As they float down through the air.

Softly, softly, oh so softly!
Do they come from dizzy heights;
Gently, gently, oh, so gently!
Do they lay a blanket white.

Over all the many housetops,
Over shrubs and tall, tall trees,
Over hills and field and meadows,
Hiding stones and restless leaves.
The Tree

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

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The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown;
"Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down.
"No, leave them alone
Till the blossoms have grown,"
Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown.

The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung;
"Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung.
"No, leave them alone
Till the berries have grown,"
Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.

The Tree bore his fruit in the midsummer glow;
Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?"
"Yes, all thou canst see;
Take them; all are for thee,"
Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.
The Sailor

by Abbie Farwell Brown

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Little girl, O little girl,
Where did you sail to-day?
The greeny grass is all about;
I cannot see the bay.

"The greeny grass is water, sir;
I'm sailing on the sea,
I'm tacking to the Island there
Beneath the apple tree.

"You ought to come aboard my boat,
Or you will soon be drowned!
You're standing in the ocean, sir,
That billows all around!"

Little girl, O little girl,
And must I pay a fare?
"A penny to the apple tree,
A penny back from there.

"A penny for a passenger,
But sailors voyage free;
O, will you be a sailor, sir,
And hold the sheet for me?"
Clouds

by Frank Dempster Sherman

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The sky is full of clouds to-day,
And idly, to and fro,
Like sheep across the pasture, they
Across the heavens go.
I hear the wind with merry noise
Around the housetops sweep,
And dream it is the shepherd boys,—
They're driving home their sheep.

The clouds move faster now; and see!
The west is red and gold.
Each sheep seems hastening to be
The first within the fold.
I watch them hurry on until
The blue is clear and deep,
And dream that far beyond the hill
The shepherds fold their sheep.

Then in the sky the trembling stars
Like little flowers shine out,
While Night puts up the shadow bars,
And darkness falls about.
Leaves at Play

by Frank Dempster Sherman

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Scamper, little leaves, about
In the autumn sun;
I can hear the old Wind shout,
Laughing as you run,
And I haven't any doubt
That he likes the fun.

When you've run a month or so,
Very tired you'll get;
But the same old Wind, I know,
Will be laughing yet
When he tucks you in your snow
Downy coverlet

So, run on and have your play,
Romp with all your might;
Dance across the autumn day,
While the sun is bright.
Soon you'll hear the old Wind say,
"Little leaves, Good-night!"
Swinging on a Birch Tree

by Lucy Larcom

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Swinging on a birch-tree
To a sleepy tune,
Hummed by all the breezes
In the month of June!
Little leaves a-flutter
Sound like dancing drops
Of a Brook on pebbles,—
Song that never stops.

Up and down we seesaw:
Up into the sky;
How it opens on us,
Like a wide blue eye!
You and I are sailors
Rocking on a mast;
And the world's our vessel:
Ho! she sails so fast!
Calling the Violet

by Lucy Larcom

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Dear Little Violet,
Don't be afraid!
Lift your blue eyes
From the rock's mossy shade!
All the birds call for you
Out of the sky;
May is here, waiting,
And here, too, am I.

Come, pretty Violet,
Winter's away:
Come, for without you
May isn't May.
Down through the sunshine
Wings flutter and fly;—
Quick, little Violet,
Open your eye!

Hear the rain whisper,
"Dear Violet, come!"
How can you stay
In your underground home?
Up in the pine-boughs
For you the winds sigh.
Homesick to see you,
Are we—May and I.
Obedience

by Phoebe Cary

If you're told to do a thing,
And mean to do it really;
Never let it be by halves;
Do it fully, freely!

Do not make a poor excuse,
Waiting, weak, unsteady;
All obedience worth the name,
Must be prompt and ready.
Morning

by Anonymous

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Darkness is banished and morning is here;
Gilding the heavens the sunbeams appear.

Songs of thanksgiving arise in the air;
Blossoms their beauty and perfume prepare

Dewdrops like diamonds flash on the grass
Bees in the meadows all hum as they pass.

Nature awaketh to gladden our heart,
For in her joyfulness all take a part.
Now the Day is Over

by Sabine Baring-Gould

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Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.

Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep;
Birds, and beasts, and flowers
Soon will be asleep.

Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With thy tenderest blessing
May our eyelids close.

Grant to little children,
Visions bright of Thee;
Guard the sailors, tossing
On the deep blue sea.

Comfort every suff’rer
Watching late in pain.
Those who plan some evil
From their sin restrain.

Through the long night-watches,
May thine angels spread
Their white wings above me,
Watching round my bed.

When the morning wakens,
Then may I arise
Pure, and fresh, and sinless
In Thy holy eyes.
The Cornfield

by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

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I went across the pasture lot
When not a one was watching me.
Away beyond the cattle barns
I climbed a little crooked tree.

And I could look down on the field
And see the corn and how it grows.
Across the world and up and down
In very straight and even rows.

And far away and far away-
I wonder if the farmer man
Knows all about the corn and how
It comes together like a fan.
The Hayloft

by Robert Louis Stevenson

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Through all the pleasant meadow-side
The grass grew shoulder-high,
Till the shining scythes went far and wide
And cut it down to dry.

Those green and sweetly smelling crops
They led in waggons home;
And they piled them here in mountain tops
For mountaineers to roam.

Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
Mount Eagle and Mount High;—
The mice that in these mountains dwell,
No happier are than I!

Oh, what a joy to clamber there,
Oh, what a place for play,
With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
The happy hills of hay!

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