The Child's Wreath of Poetry, Or, Amusement for Infant Minds

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Kiggins & Kellogg, 1847 - Animal welfare - 48 pages

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Page 8 - Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they, I pray you tell?
Page 7 - That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Page 18 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from- Heaven Than when I was a boy.
Page 9 - And often after sunset, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.
Page 17 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. I remember, I remember...
Page 10 - OH ! call my brother back to me ! I cannot play alone ; The Summer comes with flower and bee — Where is my brother gone ? " The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track ; I care not now to chase its flight — Oh ! call my brother back ! " The flowers run wild — the flowers we sow'd Around our garden tree; Our vine is drooping with its load — Oh ! call him back to me...
Page 34 - Mother, how still the baby lies ! I cannot hear his breath ; I cannot see his laughing eyes — They tell me this is death. My little work I thought to bring, And sat down by his bed, And pleasantly I tried to sing — They hushed me — he is dead. They say that he again will rise, More beautiful than now, — That God will bless him in the skies— Oh, mother, tell me how...
Page 7 - SEVEN. A SIMPLE child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage girl : She was eight years old she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid ! How many may you be?
Page 11 - A rose's brief bright life of joy, Such unto him was given ; Go — thou must play alone, my boy ! Thy brother is in heaven ! ' ' " And has he left his birds and flowers, And must I call in vain ? And, through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again ? And by the brook; and in the glade, Are all our wanderings o'er ? Oh, while my brother with me played, Would I had loved him more ! '
Page 9 - My brother John and I. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." " How many are you, then," said I, " If they two are in heaven ?" Quick was the little Maid's reply,

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