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baby beautiful birds blessed blue bread bright brother busy called child clothes cold comes dear door eyes face Father fear feel flowers forget fresh friends gentle give glad gone hand happy Hastings head hear heard heart heaven holy I'll Jesus keep kind lambs light little child little girl live look Lord mamma Mary merry mild mind morning mother nest never nice night o'er pain play pleasant poor praise pray prayer pretty rest rise robin round Saviour seek sing sister sleep smile snow soft Songs soon soul spring stand sure sweet teach tell temper thank thee things thou thought told tree walk warm watch wings wish young
Side 58 - Little drops of water, Little grains of sand Make the mighty ocean, And the pleasant land.
Side 167 - WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? 1. WHAT is that, mother ? — The lark, my child. The morn has but just looked out and smiled, When he starts from his humble, grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. 2. What is that, mother ? — The dove, my son.
Side 218 - Anouiro the throne of God in heaven, Thousands of children stand ; Children whose sins are all forgiven, A holy, happy band. Singing glory, glory, Glory be to God on high.
Side 143 - 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?
Side 110 - How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax ! And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.
Side 141 - Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.
Side 197 - And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye . Till the sun is in the sky. As your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveller in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Side 140 - 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.