Who are the little folks in the grass? Whose houses might we pull down, "roof and all," by stepping carelessly? 
 

IN the grass 
A thousand little people pass, 
And all about a myriad little eyes look out, 
For there are houses every side 
Where the little folks abide, 
Where the little folks take tea 
On a grass blade near a tree; 
Where they hold their Sabbath meetings, 
Pass each other, giving greetings, 
So remember when you pass 

Through the grass; 
Little folks are everywhere; 
Walk quite softly, take great care 
Lest you hurt them unaware, 
Lest the giant that is YOU 
Pull a house down with his shoe, 
Pull a house down, roof and all, 
Killing children, great and small; 
So the wee eyes look at you 
As you walk the meadows through; 
So remember when you pass 
Through the grass. 
 

The little child who is speaking in this poem lives in far-off London town. What kind of work do you think his father does? Do you suppose the little boy takes his father's supper to him? 
 

HAVE you seen the lights of London how they twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, 
Yellow lights, and silver lights, and crimson lights, and blue? 
And there among the other lights is Daddy's little lantern light, 
Bending like a finger-tip, and beckoning to you. 
Never was so tall a hill for tiny feet to scramble up, 
Never was so strange a world to baffle little eyes, 
Half of it as black as ink with ghostly feet to fall on it, 
And half of it all filled with lamps and cheerful sounds and cries. 

Lamps in golden palaces, and station lamps, and steamer lamps, 
Very nearly all the lamps that Mother ever knew, 
And there among the other lamps is Daddy's little lantern lamp 
Bending like a finger-tip, and beckoning to you. 
 

This is a very interesting word picture of fog. Read it aloud slowly, thinking the picture in your mind, so that if the others shut their eyes they will see the grey fog creeping over the land. 
 

THE fog comes 
on little cat feet. 

It sits looking 
over harbor and city 
on silent haunches 
and then moves on.

This poor camel seems to think that he has a very hard life indeed.  Do you remember the story of "How the Camel Got His Hump" in the "Just-So Stories"?  Perhaps the camel deserves some of his ill luck. 

CANARY BIRDS feed on sugar and seed, 
Parrots have crackers to crunch; 
And as for the poodles, they tell me the noodles 
Have chickens and cream for their lunch. 
But there's never a question 
About my digestion — 
Anything does for me! 

Cats, you're aware, can repose in a chair, 
Chickens can roost upon rails; 
Puppies are able to sleep in a stable, 
And oysters can slumber in pails. 
But no one supposes 
A poor Camel dozes — 
Any place does for me! 

Lambs are enclosed where it's never exposed, 
Coops are constructed for hens; 
 Kittens are treated to houses well heated, 
And pigs are protected by pens. 
But a Camel comes handy 
Wherever it's sandy — 
Anywhere does for me! 

People would laugh if you rode a giraffe, 
Or mounted the back of an ox; 
It's nobody's habit to ride on a rabbit, 
Or try to bestraddle a fox. 
But as for a Camel, he's 
Ridden by families — 
Any load does for me! 

A snake is as round as a hole in the ground, 
And weasels are wavy and sleek; 
And no alligator could ever be straighter 
Than lizards that live in a creek, 
But a Camel's all lumpy 
And bumpy and humpy — 
Any shape does for me! 

        I
 

"DOWN cellar," said the cricket, 
"Down cellar," said the cricket, 
"Down cellar,'" said the cricket, 
"I saw a ball last night, 
In honor of a lady, 
In honor of a lady, 
In honor of a lady, 
Whose wings were pearly white. 
The breath of bitter weather, 
The breath of bitter weather, 
The breath of bitter weather, 
Had smashed the cellar pane. 
We entertained a drift of leaves, 
We entertained a drift of leaves, 
We entertained a drift of leaves, 
And then of snow and rain. 
But we were dressed for winter, 
But we were dressed for winter, 
But we were dressed for winter, 
And loved to hear it blow 
In honor of the lady, 
In honor of the lady, 
In honor of the lady, 
Who makes potatoes grow, 
Our guest the Irish lady, 
The tiny Irish lady, 
The airy Irish lady, 
Who makes potatoes grow. 

      II
 

"Potatoes were the waiters, 
Potatoes were the waiters, 
Potatoes were the waiters, 
Potatoes were the band, 
Potatoes were the dancers 
Kicking up the sand, 
Kicking up the sand, 
Kicking up the sand, 
Potatoes were the dancers 
Kicking up the sand. 
Their legs were old burnt matches, 
Their legs were old burnt matches, 
Their legs were old burnt matches, 
Their arms were just the same. 
They jigged and whirled and scrambled, 
Jigged and whirled and scrambled, 
Jigged and whirled and scrambled, 
In honor of the dame, 
The noble Irish lady 
Who makes potatoes dance; 

The witty Irish lady, 
The saucy Irish lady, 
The laughing Irish lady 
Who makes potatoes prance. 

       Ill 

"There was just one sweet potato. 
He was golden brown and slim. 
The lady loved his dancing, 
The lady loved his dancing, 
The lady loved his dancing, 
She danced all night with him, 
She danced all night with him. 
Alas, he wasn't Irish. 
So when she flew away, 
They threw him in the coal bin, 
And there he is to-day, 
Where they cannot hear his sighs 
And his weeping for the lady, 
The glorious Irish lady, 
The beauteous Irish lady, 
Who Gives Potatoes Eyes."