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A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jim,
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 cluster'd 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.

"And where are they, I pray you

tell?" She answered;

66 Seven are we, “ And two of us at Conway dwell, is And two are gone to sea :-

" Two of us in the church-yard lie,
“ My sister and my brother,
" And in the church-yard cottage, I
“ Dwell near them with my mother."

• You say that two at Conway dwell,
• And two are gone to sea,
** Yet


are seven; I pray you • Sweet Maid, how this may be?'

tell i

Then did the little Maid reply,
“ Seven boys and girls are we;
“ Two of us in the church-yard lie,
“ Beneath the church-yard tree."

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• You run about, my little mạid,
• Your limbs they are alive;
• If two are in the church-yard laid, i...
• Then ye are only five.'

be seen,

“ Their gtaves are green, they may (The little Maid replied) “Twelve steps ormore from my mother's door, “ And they are side by side:

“ My stockings there I often knit,

My ’kerchief there I hem, “ And there upon the ground I sit " I sit and sing to them.

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66 The first that died was little Jane;
“ In bed she moaning lay,
“ Till Göd released her of her pain,
" And then she went away.

“ So in the church-yard she was laid,
" And all the summer dry,

Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

And when the ground was white with snow, 66 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?'. The little Maiden did reply, “ O Master! we are seven.”

***But they are dead; those two are dead!
“ Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away, for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”



I HEARD å thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclin'd,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.

Through primrose-tufts, in that sweet bower
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd:
Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air,
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If I these thoughts may not prevent,
If such be of my creed the plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man?

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