Mother Carey's Chickens

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Houghton Mifflin, 1911 - Children's literature - 355 pages
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The close-knit Carey family is devastated by their father's death of typhoid fever, but with inexhaustible optimism and courage the group manages to continue to enriche not only its own life but also that of the community.
 

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Page 14 - There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles The early lilacs became part of this child...
Page 12 - There came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked — and laughed! It seemed so curious that she Should cross the Unknown water, And moor herself within my room My daughter! O, my daughter! Yet by these presents witness all She's welcome fifty times, And comes consigned in hope and love And common-metre rhymes. She has no manifest but this; No flag floats o'er the water; She's too new for the British Lloyds My daughter!
Page 54 - ... cobbling, basting, filing, planing, hammering, turning, polishing, moulding, measuring, chiselling, clipping, and so forth, as men do when they go to work to make anything. But, instead of that, she sat quite still with her chin upon her hand, looking down into the sea with two great grand blue eyes, as blue as the sea itself.
Page 265 - And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.
Page 37 - Two of us in the churchyard lie, my sister and my brother. And in the churchyard cottage, I dwell near them with my mother.
Page 266 - BURN, fire, burn! Flicker, flicker, flame Whose hand above this blaze is lifted Shall be with touch of magic gifted, To warm the hearts of chilly mortals Who stand without these open portals. The touch shall draw them to this fire, Nigher, nigher, By desire. Whoso shall stand on this hearthstone Flame-fanned, Shall never, never stand alone. Whose home is dark and drear and old, Whose hearth is cold, This is his own. Flicker, flicker, flicker, flame! Burn, fire, burn!
Page 265 - For this man was counted worthy of more glory than Moses, inasmuch as he who hath builded the house, hath more honour than the house. 4 For every house is builded by some man; but he that built all things is God.
Page 272 - We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on; We murmur, but the corn-ears fill ; We choose the shadow, but the sun That casts it shines behind us still.
Page 272 - Once more the liberal year laughs out O'er richer stores than gems or gold ; Once more with harvest-song and shout Is Nature's bloodless triumph told. Our common mother rests and sings, Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves ; Her lap is full of goodly things, Her brow is bright with autumn leaves. Oh, favors every year made new ! Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! The bounty overruns our due, The fulness shames our discontent.
Page 356 - Come, my Beloved, haste away, ' Cut short the hours of thy delay, * Fly like a youthful hart or roe * Over the hills where spices grow.

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