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Literature for Little Folks: Selections from Standard Authors, and Easy ...
Vista de fragmentos - 1886
Literature for Little Folks: Selections From Standard Authors, and Easy ...
Sin vista previa disponible - 2017
animals asked beautiful bees belong better birds Blessed bright bucket busy called chee chick-a-de-dee child close clouds comes creatures dandelion dark dear dwell eyes face fair father five flowers Four little gave girl give green grow hand happy head hear heart heaven Hiawatha horse Jesus John keep kind lambs laugh leaves LESSON light little Gustava live look Mary mean morning mother names nest never night objects once picture piece play Prayer pupils replied Review Robert round sentences seven shines singing sits sleep snow sometimes song sound Spink story summer sunshine Suppose sweet teacher tell thee things thou thought tree twinkle waited walk wings wondering wood Write wrote young
Página 100 - Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Página 102 - BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican.
Página 48 - So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound : He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot...
Página 95 - 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?
Página 99 - THE FOUNTAIN. INTO the sunshine, Full of the light, Leaping and flashing From morn till night ! Into the moonlight, Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like When the winds blow ! Into the starlight Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight, Happy by day ! Ever in motion, Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward, Never aweary ; — Glad of all weathers, Still seeming best, Upward or downward, Motion thy rest ; — Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Changed every moment. Ever the same ; — Ceaseless...
Página 92 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home...
Página 119 - HOUR. BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.
Página 34 - I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen his kind look, when he said, " Let the little ones come unto me.
Página 125 - Woodman, spare that tree ! Touch not a single bough ! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea — And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties...
Página 90 - And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood ; How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?