Graded Memory SelectionsS. D. Waterman, J. W. McClymonds, C. C. Hughes Educational Publishing Company, 1903 - 192 sider |
Inni boken
Resultat 1-5 av 12
Side 19
... poor bird so ; I gave wool the nest to line , But the nest was none of mine . Baa ! Baa ! " said the sheep ; " oh no ; I wouldn't treat a poor bird so . " " Caw ! Caw ! " cried the crow , " I should like to know What thief took away A ...
... poor bird so ; I gave wool the nest to line , But the nest was none of mine . Baa ! Baa ! " said the sheep ; " oh no ; I wouldn't treat a poor bird so . " " Caw ! Caw ! " cried the crow , " I should like to know What thief took away A ...
Side 36
... poor little doll , dears , As I played on the heath one day , And I cried for her more than a week , dears , And I never could find where she lay . I found my poor little doll , dears , As I played on the heath one day ; Folks say she ...
... poor little doll , dears , As I played on the heath one day , And I cried for her more than a week , dears , And I never could find where she lay . I found my poor little doll , dears , As I played on the heath one day ; Folks say she ...
Side 49
... poor become great ; And so from these brown - handed children Shall grow mighty rulers of state . The pen of the author and statesman The noble and wise of the land - The sword , and the chisel , and palette , Shall be held in the ...
... poor become great ; And so from these brown - handed children Shall grow mighty rulers of state . The pen of the author and statesman The noble and wise of the land - The sword , and the chisel , and palette , Shall be held in the ...
Side 60
... Poor little dandelion , Now all gone to seed , Scattered roughly by the wind Like a common weed . Thou hast lived thy little life Smiling every day ; Who could do a better thing AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY . The day is ending , The. 60 MEMORY ...
... Poor little dandelion , Now all gone to seed , Scattered roughly by the wind Like a common weed . Thou hast lived thy little life Smiling every day ; Who could do a better thing AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY . The day is ending , The. 60 MEMORY ...
Side 75
... poor blue - jays ! What is it that the black crow says ? The squirrel lifts his little legs Because he has no hands , and begs ; He's asking for nuts , I know ; May I not feed them on the snow ? " * Copyrighted by Houghton , Mifflin ...
... poor blue - jays ! What is it that the black crow says ? The squirrel lifts his little legs Because he has no hands , and begs ; He's asking for nuts , I know ; May I not feed them on the snow ? " * Copyrighted by Houghton , Mifflin ...
Andre utgaver - Vis alle
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Alfred Tennyson Alice Cary Anon baby basket beautiful bird blossoms blow blue Blynken and Nod boat brave bright brown brown thrush Celia Thaxter chackle cheeks child cloud Copyrighted by Houghton daisies dandelion dark dead dear dream earth Edward Rowland Sill Edwin Markham Eugene Field eyes feet flag flowers glad gold golden grass grow hands hath hear heard heart heaven hold in fee J. G. Holland light little boy lives Longfellow Lord man's son inherit Mary Mapes Dodge Mifflin moon morning nest never night o'er Phoebe Cary Pittypat and Tippytoe pretty Pussy rain Reprinted by permission rest Robert Louis Stevenson Robin runcible spoon sail Shadowtown shine sing skies sleep soft song somewhere soul stars stole thee thine things thou thought three little birds Three little bugs toil tree voice wave wind Wynken Yoooooooooo
Populære avsnitt
Side 83 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat ; He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge,...
Side 151 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Side 108 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Side 107 - Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
Side 109 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine! Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God!
Side 112 - Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town tonight, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,— One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and...
Side 100 - And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying: "Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee." " Come, wander with me," she said, " Into regions yet untrod ; And read what is still unread In the manuscripts of God." And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe. And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail, She would sing a more wonderful song, Or tell a more marvellous tale.
Side 142 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Side 165 - We know what Master laid thy keel, What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, and what a heat, Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Side 106 - I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.