The Little Orator, Or, Primary School Speaker (Google eBook)

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A.S. Barnes & Burr, 1863 - Recitations - 178 pages
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Page 43 - THE Mountain and the Squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former call'd the latter " Little Prig." Bun replied— " You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so
Page 43 - as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel-track. Talents differ: all is well and wisely put: If I can not carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut.
Page 42 - ORATOR. YOU'D scarce expect one of my age To speak in public, on the stage; And, if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow; Tall oaks from little acorns grow; And, though I now am small and young
Page 73 - laid, Half forgotten that merry air : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows, but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie ; Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes
Page 71 - the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers, Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest, Wearing a bright black wedding coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest,
Page 119 - THE BETTER LAND." CHILD. " I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band ; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore ? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?" MOTHER. "Not there, not there, my child!
Page 119 - Not there, not there, my child!" CHILD. " Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?" MOTHER. " Not there, not there, my child
Page 60 - THE TEMPEST. * WE were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep;— It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep. 'Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered in the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder,
Page 120 - Not there, not there, my child!" " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams can not picture a world so fair— Sorrow and death may not enter there: Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom; For, beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child I
Page 76 - ocean and the beauteous land, And the little moments, humble though they be, Make the mighty ages of eternity. So our little errors lead the soul astray, From the paths of virtue, oft in sin to stray; Little deeds of kindness, little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, like the heaven above;

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