I'll go up and tell her
It caught in my rope;
Perhaps she won't scold much,
At least, so I'll hope."

"That's right!" cries her mother,
Who stands by the door,
"I would rather have ten vases
Were smashed on the floor

Than my children should once break
The bright words of truth,
The dearest possession
Of age or of youth.

The vase can be mended,
And scarce show a crack,
But a falsehood once spoken
Will never come back."

However much grieved for
By young folks or old,
An untruth once uttered,
Forever is told.

The Liar Reclaimed

O! 'tis a lovely thing for youth
To walk betimes in wisdom's way;
To fear a lie, to speak the truth,
That we may trust to all they say.

But liars we can never trust,
Tho' they should speak the thing that's true,
And he that does one fault at first,
And lies to hide it, makes it two.

The Truth

Why should you fear the truth to tell?
Does falsehood ever do you so well?
Can you be satisfied to know
There's something wrong to hide below
No! let your fault be what it may,
To own it is the happy way.

So long as you your crime conceal,
You cannot light or gladsome feel;
Your heart will ever feel oppressed,
As if a weight were on your breast:
And e'en your mother's eye to meet
Will tinge your face with shame and heat.

False Alarms

Little Mary one day most loudly did call,
"Mamma! oh, mamma, pray come here!
A fall I have had--oh! a very sad fall."
Mamma ran in haste and in fear;
Then Mary jump'd up, and she laugh'd in great glee,
And cried, "Why, how fast you can run!
No harm has befallen, I assure you, to me,
My screaming was only in fun."

Her mother was busy at work the next day,
She heard from without a loud cry,
"The big dog has got me! O help me! Oh! pray!
He tears me--he bites me--I die!"
Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court
And there little Mary she found;
Who, laughing, said, "Madam, pray how do you do!"
And curtsey'd quite down to the ground.

That night little Mary, when long gone to bed,
Shrill cries and loud shriekings were heard;
"I'm on fire, O mamma, come up or I'm dead!"
Mamma she believ'd not a word.
"Sleep, sleep, naughty child," she call'd out from below,
"How often have I been deceived?
You're telling a story, you very well know:
Go to sleep, f