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Alice Cary Anon baby beautiful beneath bird blossoms blow blue Blynken brave breath bright brown thrush Celia Thaxter cloud Copyrighted by Houghton daisies dandelion dark dead dear deed dream dust earth Edward Rowland Sill Edwin Markham Eugene Field eyes fear feet fields flag flowers forever forget-lest we forget gold golden GRADE grow hands hear heard heart heaven heritage it seems hold in fee J. G. Holland Lest we forget-lest light lives Longfellow Lord loud man's son inherit Mary Mapes Dodge Mifflin moon nest never night o'er Oliver Wendell Holmes Phoebe Cary Pittypat and Tippytoe pretty rain Reprinted by permission Robert Louis Stevenson Robin round sail shine sings skies sleep soft song somewhere soul stars sweet thee thine things thought to-day toil tree unseen voice wave wind wings wish to hold wonderful
Page 83 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat ; He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge,...
Page 151 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 108 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 107 - Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
Page 109 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine! Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God!
Page 112 - Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town tonight, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,— One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and...
Page 100 - And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying: "Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee." " Come, wander with me," she said, " Into regions yet untrod ; And read what is still unread In the manuscripts of God." And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe. And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail, She would sing a more wonderful song, Or tell a more marvellous tale.
Page 142 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 165 - We know what Master laid thy keel, What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, and what a heat, Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!