DOROTHYDauber sat serene,Painting my total on a screen,When a little mouse went scampering o’erDorothy Dauber’s yellow floor.Dorothy, with a piercing cry,Clambered up on a table high;My first went madly rushing pastWaving vigorously my last.Such a commotion in the house,And all on account of a little mouse.
DOROTHYDauber sat serene,Painting my total on a screen,When a little mouse went scampering o’erDorothy Dauber’s yellow floor.Dorothy, with a piercing cry,Clambered up on a table high;My first went madly rushing pastWaving vigorously my last.Such a commotion in the house,And all on account of a little mouse.
DOROTHYDauber sat serene,Painting my total on a screen,When a little mouse went scampering o’erDorothy Dauber’s yellow floor.Dorothy, with a piercing cry,Clambered up on a table high;My first went madly rushing pastWaving vigorously my last.Such a commotion in the house,And all on account of a little mouse.
My first, of high degree,Thousands succumb to thee—In Oriental countries thou art found;Beneath thy mighty powerThy fainting victims cower,Thy greatness brings them prostrate to the ground.Unhonored and unsung,My second was, when young,Beheaded by a tyrant’s stern decree;Her home and friends she left,Her children were bereft,Yet martyred in a worthy cause was she.In far Afghanistan,In China and Japan,On Greenland’s ice and India’s coral strands;My whole in mighty hordes,So history records,Worship their idols in barbaric bands.
My first, of high degree,Thousands succumb to thee—In Oriental countries thou art found;Beneath thy mighty powerThy fainting victims cower,Thy greatness brings them prostrate to the ground.Unhonored and unsung,My second was, when young,Beheaded by a tyrant’s stern decree;Her home and friends she left,Her children were bereft,Yet martyred in a worthy cause was she.In far Afghanistan,In China and Japan,On Greenland’s ice and India’s coral strands;My whole in mighty hordes,So history records,Worship their idols in barbaric bands.
My first, of high degree,Thousands succumb to thee—In Oriental countries thou art found;Beneath thy mighty powerThy fainting victims cower,Thy greatness brings them prostrate to the ground.
Unhonored and unsung,My second was, when young,Beheaded by a tyrant’s stern decree;Her home and friends she left,Her children were bereft,Yet martyred in a worthy cause was she.
In far Afghanistan,In China and Japan,On Greenland’s ice and India’s coral strands;My whole in mighty hordes,So history records,Worship their idols in barbaric bands.
INa little old school-house that stood on a hillA little old schoolmaster taught with a will.But over his pupils he had no control;They said he was crusty and cross and my whole.And the rascals declared it would serve him just rightTo play him a practical joke some fine night.So down to the river they went, and they tookMy first from my last of the dark, muddy brook.Then they eagerly hurried, yet still as a mouse,Till they came to the little old schoolmaster’s house.They smuggled my first in my last with great glee,And chuckled to think how irate he would be.
INa little old school-house that stood on a hillA little old schoolmaster taught with a will.But over his pupils he had no control;They said he was crusty and cross and my whole.And the rascals declared it would serve him just rightTo play him a practical joke some fine night.So down to the river they went, and they tookMy first from my last of the dark, muddy brook.Then they eagerly hurried, yet still as a mouse,Till they came to the little old schoolmaster’s house.They smuggled my first in my last with great glee,And chuckled to think how irate he would be.
INa little old school-house that stood on a hillA little old schoolmaster taught with a will.But over his pupils he had no control;They said he was crusty and cross and my whole.And the rascals declared it would serve him just rightTo play him a practical joke some fine night.So down to the river they went, and they tookMy first from my last of the dark, muddy brook.Then they eagerly hurried, yet still as a mouse,Till they came to the little old schoolmaster’s house.They smuggled my first in my last with great glee,And chuckled to think how irate he would be.
LEAVINGmy whole with grief and painColumbus sailed across the main.He came at last to western landsAnd saw the Red Men’s savage bands.They were my last, they were my first,Columbus’ fears were then dispersed.
LEAVINGmy whole with grief and painColumbus sailed across the main.He came at last to western landsAnd saw the Red Men’s savage bands.They were my last, they were my first,Columbus’ fears were then dispersed.
LEAVINGmy whole with grief and painColumbus sailed across the main.He came at last to western landsAnd saw the Red Men’s savage bands.They were my last, they were my first,Columbus’ fears were then dispersed.
FROMhistory’s truthful page,We all of us may knowMy first was strongly builtThousands of years ago.The books of ancient loreWe read again and seeThat long before my firstMy whole was said to be.And people who lived then,Had surely never heardOf the 20th centuryMy second and my third.
FROMhistory’s truthful page,We all of us may knowMy first was strongly builtThousands of years ago.The books of ancient loreWe read again and seeThat long before my firstMy whole was said to be.And people who lived then,Had surely never heardOf the 20th centuryMy second and my third.
FROMhistory’s truthful page,We all of us may knowMy first was strongly builtThousands of years ago.The books of ancient loreWe read again and seeThat long before my firstMy whole was said to be.
And people who lived then,Had surely never heardOf the 20th centuryMy second and my third.
MYgrandsire in the Mayflower came across the raging waters,And so I sought to join the Revolutionary Daughters.I studied up my pedigree, and when my search was ended,I learned to my chagrin that from my first I had descended.The cashier left his books in wild confusion and disorder,And started to my last across the far Canadian border.My whole is used by artisans of every clime and nation,The blacksmith’s need, the mason’s pride, the school-girl’s detestation.
MYgrandsire in the Mayflower came across the raging waters,And so I sought to join the Revolutionary Daughters.I studied up my pedigree, and when my search was ended,I learned to my chagrin that from my first I had descended.The cashier left his books in wild confusion and disorder,And started to my last across the far Canadian border.My whole is used by artisans of every clime and nation,The blacksmith’s need, the mason’s pride, the school-girl’s detestation.
MYgrandsire in the Mayflower came across the raging waters,And so I sought to join the Revolutionary Daughters.I studied up my pedigree, and when my search was ended,I learned to my chagrin that from my first I had descended.
The cashier left his books in wild confusion and disorder,And started to my last across the far Canadian border.
My whole is used by artisans of every clime and nation,The blacksmith’s need, the mason’s pride, the school-girl’s detestation.
THEbreaking waves dashed high,The vessel rose and fell;My first was drenched from end to endWith every heavy swell.The vivid lightning flashed,The awful thunder boomed.“Unless my last is sent to us,”The captain said, “we ’re doomed.”The tempest cleared awayBefore the morning light.“Within my whole,” the captain said,“I ’ve not seen such a night.”
THEbreaking waves dashed high,The vessel rose and fell;My first was drenched from end to endWith every heavy swell.The vivid lightning flashed,The awful thunder boomed.“Unless my last is sent to us,”The captain said, “we ’re doomed.”The tempest cleared awayBefore the morning light.“Within my whole,” the captain said,“I ’ve not seen such a night.”
THEbreaking waves dashed high,The vessel rose and fell;My first was drenched from end to endWith every heavy swell.
The vivid lightning flashed,The awful thunder boomed.“Unless my last is sent to us,”The captain said, “we ’re doomed.”
The tempest cleared awayBefore the morning light.“Within my whole,” the captain said,“I ’ve not seen such a night.”
MYfirst, with the meek brown eyes,In whose orbs a shadow lies,Standing with reluctant feetWhere the brook and river meet,If where wild-flowers blossom rank,You my last upon the bank,Down the hillside you may rollAnd play havoc with my whole.
MYfirst, with the meek brown eyes,In whose orbs a shadow lies,Standing with reluctant feetWhere the brook and river meet,If where wild-flowers blossom rank,You my last upon the bank,Down the hillside you may rollAnd play havoc with my whole.
MYfirst, with the meek brown eyes,In whose orbs a shadow lies,Standing with reluctant feetWhere the brook and river meet,If where wild-flowers blossom rank,You my last upon the bank,Down the hillside you may rollAnd play havoc with my whole.
MYfirst, men call thee wicked, and perhaps they may be right,Yet I contend thou shouldst be judged according to thy light.My last, thou art a messenger received with joy or dread,—Frequently driven, very deaf, found in an humble shed.My whole, of upright bearing, and found in many lands,In order to be seen of men, upon street-corners stands.
MYfirst, men call thee wicked, and perhaps they may be right,Yet I contend thou shouldst be judged according to thy light.My last, thou art a messenger received with joy or dread,—Frequently driven, very deaf, found in an humble shed.My whole, of upright bearing, and found in many lands,In order to be seen of men, upon street-corners stands.
MYfirst, men call thee wicked, and perhaps they may be right,Yet I contend thou shouldst be judged according to thy light.
My last, thou art a messenger received with joy or dread,—Frequently driven, very deaf, found in an humble shed.
My whole, of upright bearing, and found in many lands,In order to be seen of men, upon street-corners stands.
THEvast hosts of Egypt, at Pharaoh’s decree,All blazing in armor marched down to the sea.The plot was devised in a moment of rage,By my last, who committed my first ’gainst a sage.A dry way through the sea for the hosts was revealed;But this availed naught, for their dark doom was sealed;The furious billows no power could control,And ’neath the dark waters they soon were my whole.
THEvast hosts of Egypt, at Pharaoh’s decree,All blazing in armor marched down to the sea.The plot was devised in a moment of rage,By my last, who committed my first ’gainst a sage.A dry way through the sea for the hosts was revealed;But this availed naught, for their dark doom was sealed;The furious billows no power could control,And ’neath the dark waters they soon were my whole.
THEvast hosts of Egypt, at Pharaoh’s decree,All blazing in armor marched down to the sea.The plot was devised in a moment of rage,By my last, who committed my first ’gainst a sage.A dry way through the sea for the hosts was revealed;But this availed naught, for their dark doom was sealed;The furious billows no power could control,And ’neath the dark waters they soon were my whole.
CLADin his ermine and his robes of state,The haughty king in pomp and splendor sate.And ’mong the crowds which thronged the regal chair,My first approached, and looked upon him there,She, too, with white-furred robe and gentle mien,And noble air and countenance serene.“What does she here?” grumbled a doughty knight.The king replied, “The world hath said she might.”I walked across a sunny field one day,And saw an old man working by the way.“How is my last, old man?” I gaily said.“My last?” said he, and bent his grizzled head.“How is my last?” I said it o’er again.“My last?” he said (he seemed perplexed), and then—“Is my last good?” I asked of him once more.“Fine, sir,” he said; “better than e’er before.”Across the ocean’s wave my total lies;And, as Lord Tennyson in verse implies,Is dull and undesirable; but still,I ’d gladly travel there, had I my will.
CLADin his ermine and his robes of state,The haughty king in pomp and splendor sate.And ’mong the crowds which thronged the regal chair,My first approached, and looked upon him there,She, too, with white-furred robe and gentle mien,And noble air and countenance serene.“What does she here?” grumbled a doughty knight.The king replied, “The world hath said she might.”I walked across a sunny field one day,And saw an old man working by the way.“How is my last, old man?” I gaily said.“My last?” said he, and bent his grizzled head.“How is my last?” I said it o’er again.“My last?” he said (he seemed perplexed), and then—“Is my last good?” I asked of him once more.“Fine, sir,” he said; “better than e’er before.”Across the ocean’s wave my total lies;And, as Lord Tennyson in verse implies,Is dull and undesirable; but still,I ’d gladly travel there, had I my will.
CLADin his ermine and his robes of state,The haughty king in pomp and splendor sate.And ’mong the crowds which thronged the regal chair,My first approached, and looked upon him there,She, too, with white-furred robe and gentle mien,And noble air and countenance serene.“What does she here?” grumbled a doughty knight.The king replied, “The world hath said she might.”
I walked across a sunny field one day,And saw an old man working by the way.“How is my last, old man?” I gaily said.“My last?” said he, and bent his grizzled head.“How is my last?” I said it o’er again.“My last?” he said (he seemed perplexed), and then—“Is my last good?” I asked of him once more.“Fine, sir,” he said; “better than e’er before.”
Across the ocean’s wave my total lies;And, as Lord Tennyson in verse implies,Is dull and undesirable; but still,I ’d gladly travel there, had I my will.
MYfirst, a graceful shape, a lady fair,Walking the earth, suspended in the air;Shrill-voiced and brazen-tongued, low-toned and sweet,Shining and dull, discordant and discreet.The jolly fisherman, his day’s work o’er,Walks with his string of fish along the shore;Knowing they ’ll make a bountiful repast,He proudly takes them homeward to my last.Once in my whole a lovely maiden swung,And ever since we ’ve heard her praises sung.
MYfirst, a graceful shape, a lady fair,Walking the earth, suspended in the air;Shrill-voiced and brazen-tongued, low-toned and sweet,Shining and dull, discordant and discreet.The jolly fisherman, his day’s work o’er,Walks with his string of fish along the shore;Knowing they ’ll make a bountiful repast,He proudly takes them homeward to my last.Once in my whole a lovely maiden swung,And ever since we ’ve heard her praises sung.
MYfirst, a graceful shape, a lady fair,Walking the earth, suspended in the air;Shrill-voiced and brazen-tongued, low-toned and sweet,Shining and dull, discordant and discreet.
The jolly fisherman, his day’s work o’er,Walks with his string of fish along the shore;Knowing they ’ll make a bountiful repast,He proudly takes them homeward to my last.
Once in my whole a lovely maiden swung,And ever since we ’ve heard her praises sung.
AWELLknown ballad has rehearsedThe placid waters of my first.The hero bold, his noble friend,The heroine’s sad, untimely end,Why by a traitor was immersedBeneath the waters of my first.Another ballad I could nameDescribes the doings of a dame;Her home-life, and her walks abroad,And her companions. We are awedAt all the tales her memories tell,And what strange happenings befell.’T is said that she went to my last.Now this we know: that if she passedInto my last, and did n’t handMy last, according to demand,’T was not my last, and we may sayShe was a deadhead in her day.My whole ’s desired by every oneFrom day to day, from sun to sun.For it we pray, we work, we earn;Look out for it at every turn.And when at last we ’ve had our day,My last my first we ’ll have to say.
AWELLknown ballad has rehearsedThe placid waters of my first.The hero bold, his noble friend,The heroine’s sad, untimely end,Why by a traitor was immersedBeneath the waters of my first.Another ballad I could nameDescribes the doings of a dame;Her home-life, and her walks abroad,And her companions. We are awedAt all the tales her memories tell,And what strange happenings befell.’T is said that she went to my last.Now this we know: that if she passedInto my last, and did n’t handMy last, according to demand,’T was not my last, and we may sayShe was a deadhead in her day.My whole ’s desired by every oneFrom day to day, from sun to sun.For it we pray, we work, we earn;Look out for it at every turn.And when at last we ’ve had our day,My last my first we ’ll have to say.
AWELLknown ballad has rehearsedThe placid waters of my first.The hero bold, his noble friend,The heroine’s sad, untimely end,Why by a traitor was immersedBeneath the waters of my first.Another ballad I could nameDescribes the doings of a dame;Her home-life, and her walks abroad,And her companions. We are awedAt all the tales her memories tell,And what strange happenings befell.’T is said that she went to my last.Now this we know: that if she passedInto my last, and did n’t handMy last, according to demand,’T was not my last, and we may sayShe was a deadhead in her day.My whole ’s desired by every oneFrom day to day, from sun to sun.For it we pray, we work, we earn;Look out for it at every turn.And when at last we ’ve had our day,My last my first we ’ll have to say.
IMETmy whole in a far-distant land,Shiftless and wild he roamed upon the sand.“Are you my last?” with sudden fear I said.He only said my first, and wagged his head.Yet but reverse the letters of my whole,A friend we see, a noble loving soul.
IMETmy whole in a far-distant land,Shiftless and wild he roamed upon the sand.“Are you my last?” with sudden fear I said.He only said my first, and wagged his head.Yet but reverse the letters of my whole,A friend we see, a noble loving soul.
IMETmy whole in a far-distant land,Shiftless and wild he roamed upon the sand.“Are you my last?” with sudden fear I said.He only said my first, and wagged his head.Yet but reverse the letters of my whole,A friend we see, a noble loving soul.
THEbanners were waving, gems glittered and shone,When my first and my second ascended the throne,And peacefully reigned with a merciful swayIn glory and splendor. But one summer dayA message was brought to the court and the stateThat the king was not coming, the session must wait.A great consternation o’er all faces spread;They whispered in sorrow, “Alack for his head!”And the courtiers echoed, “Alas for his poll!Oh, who can now help him, his head is my whole!”
THEbanners were waving, gems glittered and shone,When my first and my second ascended the throne,And peacefully reigned with a merciful swayIn glory and splendor. But one summer dayA message was brought to the court and the stateThat the king was not coming, the session must wait.A great consternation o’er all faces spread;They whispered in sorrow, “Alack for his head!”And the courtiers echoed, “Alas for his poll!Oh, who can now help him, his head is my whole!”
THEbanners were waving, gems glittered and shone,When my first and my second ascended the throne,And peacefully reigned with a merciful swayIn glory and splendor. But one summer dayA message was brought to the court and the stateThat the king was not coming, the session must wait.A great consternation o’er all faces spread;They whispered in sorrow, “Alack for his head!”And the courtiers echoed, “Alas for his poll!Oh, who can now help him, his head is my whole!”
IKNOWa boy; his name ’s my last.And yet he is my first,Because of all the scamps I know,He really is the worst.I saw him tumble down to-dayAnd on the pavement roll;I saw him fight another boy,I saw him get my whole.His old cap was my whole, I think;A tattered coat he had,And yet, withal, he seemed to beA very merry lad.
IKNOWa boy; his name ’s my last.And yet he is my first,Because of all the scamps I know,He really is the worst.I saw him tumble down to-dayAnd on the pavement roll;I saw him fight another boy,I saw him get my whole.His old cap was my whole, I think;A tattered coat he had,And yet, withal, he seemed to beA very merry lad.
IKNOWa boy; his name ’s my last.And yet he is my first,Because of all the scamps I know,He really is the worst.
I saw him tumble down to-dayAnd on the pavement roll;I saw him fight another boy,I saw him get my whole.
His old cap was my whole, I think;A tattered coat he had,And yet, withal, he seemed to beA very merry lad.
MYfirst, untidy though thou art,A noted writer, and a scribe,This trait of thine hath won my heart:Thy kindness to the feathered tribe.My second dwells among the hills,Or lives on India’s coral strand;And many hearts with fear it thrillsWhen marching in a mighty band.Sailing upon the summer seas,I watch the yachts and pleasure boatsSpurred on by the propelling breeze—How gracefully my total floats!
MYfirst, untidy though thou art,A noted writer, and a scribe,This trait of thine hath won my heart:Thy kindness to the feathered tribe.My second dwells among the hills,Or lives on India’s coral strand;And many hearts with fear it thrillsWhen marching in a mighty band.Sailing upon the summer seas,I watch the yachts and pleasure boatsSpurred on by the propelling breeze—How gracefully my total floats!
MYfirst, untidy though thou art,A noted writer, and a scribe,This trait of thine hath won my heart:Thy kindness to the feathered tribe.
My second dwells among the hills,Or lives on India’s coral strand;And many hearts with fear it thrillsWhen marching in a mighty band.
Sailing upon the summer seas,I watch the yachts and pleasure boatsSpurred on by the propelling breeze—How gracefully my total floats!
MYfirst is good when it ’s alone;The best ones are our mothers’;And though we have it of our own,We ’re apt to take another’s.In many devious paths we strayWhen by my first we ’re beckoned;And by my first we ’re dragged away,Or else we are my second.Sometimes my second may be shot,Which brings much grief and dole;But when my second’s very hotIt cannot be my whole.
MYfirst is good when it ’s alone;The best ones are our mothers’;And though we have it of our own,We ’re apt to take another’s.In many devious paths we strayWhen by my first we ’re beckoned;And by my first we ’re dragged away,Or else we are my second.Sometimes my second may be shot,Which brings much grief and dole;But when my second’s very hotIt cannot be my whole.
MYfirst is good when it ’s alone;The best ones are our mothers’;And though we have it of our own,We ’re apt to take another’s.
In many devious paths we strayWhen by my first we ’re beckoned;And by my first we ’re dragged away,Or else we are my second.
Sometimes my second may be shot,Which brings much grief and dole;But when my second’s very hotIt cannot be my whole.
FIRSTsign of Liberty! My first has stoodFor half a hundred years, and still is goodFor half a hundred more. My last, though thin,Though old and bent, yet lithe and strong, has beenStrung up for killing U. S. Army men,Perhaps deprived them of my whole; and whenMy whole is lacking, he would be a gooseWho said most stovepipes are of any use.
FIRSTsign of Liberty! My first has stoodFor half a hundred years, and still is goodFor half a hundred more. My last, though thin,Though old and bent, yet lithe and strong, has beenStrung up for killing U. S. Army men,Perhaps deprived them of my whole; and whenMy whole is lacking, he would be a gooseWho said most stovepipes are of any use.
FIRSTsign of Liberty! My first has stoodFor half a hundred years, and still is goodFor half a hundred more. My last, though thin,Though old and bent, yet lithe and strong, has beenStrung up for killing U. S. Army men,Perhaps deprived them of my whole; and whenMy whole is lacking, he would be a gooseWho said most stovepipes are of any use.
WHENhunting my last in the forest I heardIn my first, as I passed, the song of a bird;If you seek in my whole you ’ll discover the word.
WHENhunting my last in the forest I heardIn my first, as I passed, the song of a bird;If you seek in my whole you ’ll discover the word.
WHENhunting my last in the forest I heardIn my first, as I passed, the song of a bird;If you seek in my whole you ’ll discover the word.
MYsecond once again is running clear,The young green of my whole begins to appear,All things my first to show that spring is here.
MYsecond once again is running clear,The young green of my whole begins to appear,All things my first to show that spring is here.
MYsecond once again is running clear,The young green of my whole begins to appear,All things my first to show that spring is here.
My whole was a queenOf disconsolate mienWho built a large pile in the past;In sorrow immersed,She vowed to my first,And that ’s what she vowed to my last.
My whole was a queenOf disconsolate mienWho built a large pile in the past;In sorrow immersed,She vowed to my first,And that ’s what she vowed to my last.
My whole was a queenOf disconsolate mienWho built a large pile in the past;In sorrow immersed,She vowed to my first,And that ’s what she vowed to my last.
IFmy last could be placed upon my first,The world would be the better;My whole must be carefully rehearsedIf you ’d write a perfect letter.My last has been laid upon my last;Bad men in my first are living;My whole ’s a doctor who may be classedAmong the pleasure-giving.
IFmy last could be placed upon my first,The world would be the better;My whole must be carefully rehearsedIf you ’d write a perfect letter.My last has been laid upon my last;Bad men in my first are living;My whole ’s a doctor who may be classedAmong the pleasure-giving.
IFmy last could be placed upon my first,The world would be the better;My whole must be carefully rehearsedIf you ’d write a perfect letter.
My last has been laid upon my last;Bad men in my first are living;My whole ’s a doctor who may be classedAmong the pleasure-giving.
MYfirst is the well known historical homeOf a noted historical lady;My first in strange countries is oft known to roam,Or along a green path cool and shady.My first is my lady’s great pride and delight,Yet they say the fair sex cannot do it;My first stamps the home, though ’t is oft out of sight;When I was a child I went through it.My last is a very queer book, so men say,So scarce that we rarely can find it;A most welcome caller, a place far away,’T is twisted, yet still we can wind it.My whole, a great healer, thy power I allow,Though others thy help may be scorning;For ere I go worldward, to thee I must bow,And beseech thine assistance each morning.
MYfirst is the well known historical homeOf a noted historical lady;My first in strange countries is oft known to roam,Or along a green path cool and shady.My first is my lady’s great pride and delight,Yet they say the fair sex cannot do it;My first stamps the home, though ’t is oft out of sight;When I was a child I went through it.My last is a very queer book, so men say,So scarce that we rarely can find it;A most welcome caller, a place far away,’T is twisted, yet still we can wind it.My whole, a great healer, thy power I allow,Though others thy help may be scorning;For ere I go worldward, to thee I must bow,And beseech thine assistance each morning.
MYfirst is the well known historical homeOf a noted historical lady;My first in strange countries is oft known to roam,Or along a green path cool and shady.
My first is my lady’s great pride and delight,Yet they say the fair sex cannot do it;My first stamps the home, though ’t is oft out of sight;When I was a child I went through it.
My last is a very queer book, so men say,So scarce that we rarely can find it;A most welcome caller, a place far away,’T is twisted, yet still we can wind it.
My whole, a great healer, thy power I allow,Though others thy help may be scorning;For ere I go worldward, to thee I must bow,And beseech thine assistance each morning.
WHENbrave Leander was immersed,And through the waters passed,We ’re very sure he was my first,But he was not my last.And my whole garments which he wore,—This young enthusiast,—Laid in my first upon the shore,Would have become my last.
WHENbrave Leander was immersed,And through the waters passed,We ’re very sure he was my first,But he was not my last.And my whole garments which he wore,—This young enthusiast,—Laid in my first upon the shore,Would have become my last.
WHENbrave Leander was immersed,And through the waters passed,We ’re very sure he was my first,But he was not my last.
And my whole garments which he wore,—This young enthusiast,—Laid in my first upon the shore,Would have become my last.
MYfirst is my last, and my first is my whole;My whole is my last and my first;My whole is a ball I attempted to roll,But I think of all balls ’t was the worst.
MYfirst is my last, and my first is my whole;My whole is my last and my first;My whole is a ball I attempted to roll,But I think of all balls ’t was the worst.
MYfirst is my last, and my first is my whole;My whole is my last and my first;My whole is a ball I attempted to roll,But I think of all balls ’t was the worst.
MYfirst is old and yellow,Withered and seamed by age;A most discerning fellow,Oracular and sage.My last comes in the winter,But not in storm or blast;The sluggard and the printerWill often take my last.My whole is a goddess of fabulous fame.Or a long line of articles, somewhat the same.
MYfirst is old and yellow,Withered and seamed by age;A most discerning fellow,Oracular and sage.My last comes in the winter,But not in storm or blast;The sluggard and the printerWill often take my last.My whole is a goddess of fabulous fame.Or a long line of articles, somewhat the same.
MYfirst is old and yellow,Withered and seamed by age;A most discerning fellow,Oracular and sage.
My last comes in the winter,But not in storm or blast;The sluggard and the printerWill often take my last.
My whole is a goddess of fabulous fame.Or a long line of articles, somewhat the same.
AKINGhad many wives,Of whom my first was one;He spoiled their happy lives,Apparently for fun.And some he sent away,Of home and friends bereft;Of some, ere they could pray,The steel my last had cleft.With each, successively,The King found some pretextFor banishment; and heWould then my whole the next.
AKINGhad many wives,Of whom my first was one;He spoiled their happy lives,Apparently for fun.And some he sent away,Of home and friends bereft;Of some, ere they could pray,The steel my last had cleft.With each, successively,The King found some pretextFor banishment; and heWould then my whole the next.
AKINGhad many wives,Of whom my first was one;He spoiled their happy lives,Apparently for fun.
And some he sent away,Of home and friends bereft;Of some, ere they could pray,The steel my last had cleft.
With each, successively,The King found some pretextFor banishment; and heWould then my whole the next.
ATRAVELERrode hard and fast,Shivering with cold and dread.“If I can but reach my first in my last,I shall then be safe,” he said.The way was rocky and dark and steep,My last was flying past;He sought for an inn where he might sleep,Sheltered from storm and blast.He traveled on, through mud and mire,When, to his great delight,He saw an inn and a friendly fire,And went there for the night.And from him shouts of laughter burst—He reveled in my whole,Which quickly made my last my first,And cheered his lonely soul.
ATRAVELERrode hard and fast,Shivering with cold and dread.“If I can but reach my first in my last,I shall then be safe,” he said.The way was rocky and dark and steep,My last was flying past;He sought for an inn where he might sleep,Sheltered from storm and blast.He traveled on, through mud and mire,When, to his great delight,He saw an inn and a friendly fire,And went there for the night.And from him shouts of laughter burst—He reveled in my whole,Which quickly made my last my first,And cheered his lonely soul.
ATRAVELERrode hard and fast,Shivering with cold and dread.“If I can but reach my first in my last,I shall then be safe,” he said.
The way was rocky and dark and steep,My last was flying past;He sought for an inn where he might sleep,Sheltered from storm and blast.
He traveled on, through mud and mire,When, to his great delight,He saw an inn and a friendly fire,And went there for the night.
And from him shouts of laughter burst—He reveled in my whole,Which quickly made my last my first,And cheered his lonely soul.
NOWglory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are,And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!He was my first, a mighty man, a warrior for the right;He showed my whole, and went my first when he my last to fight.Although my last is duty’s cry, with some it goes for naught;In all adventures have my whole, if you would not be caught.
NOWglory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are,And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!He was my first, a mighty man, a warrior for the right;He showed my whole, and went my first when he my last to fight.Although my last is duty’s cry, with some it goes for naught;In all adventures have my whole, if you would not be caught.
NOWglory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are,And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!
He was my first, a mighty man, a warrior for the right;He showed my whole, and went my first when he my last to fight.
Although my last is duty’s cry, with some it goes for naught;In all adventures have my whole, if you would not be caught.
HIGHin my first they waved the flag,’Mid shouts of wild applause;And soldiers brave marched to my first,And fought to win the cause.Without my second we could notAssert that “Right is might,”Nor “Virtue is its own reward,”Nor other proverbs trite.My last we all admit to beA blessing unsurpassed;Though some would give my last for all,Some give all for my last.We often pass my total byWith but a hurried look;And though we cannot read it, yetWe find it in a book.
HIGHin my first they waved the flag,’Mid shouts of wild applause;And soldiers brave marched to my first,And fought to win the cause.Without my second we could notAssert that “Right is might,”Nor “Virtue is its own reward,”Nor other proverbs trite.My last we all admit to beA blessing unsurpassed;Though some would give my last for all,Some give all for my last.We often pass my total byWith but a hurried look;And though we cannot read it, yetWe find it in a book.
HIGHin my first they waved the flag,’Mid shouts of wild applause;And soldiers brave marched to my first,And fought to win the cause.
Without my second we could notAssert that “Right is might,”Nor “Virtue is its own reward,”Nor other proverbs trite.
My last we all admit to beA blessing unsurpassed;Though some would give my last for all,Some give all for my last.
We often pass my total byWith but a hurried look;And though we cannot read it, yetWe find it in a book.
IWASsitting in my study—In my first the fire was ruddy,And I watched it as I idly clasped my whole;Though a sober man I ’m reckoned,To my lips I raised my second,For I never was addicted to the bowl.I was waiting for my daughter,And at last I went and sought her—She has tresses like a golden aureole;But she hastily retreated,For her face was flushed and heated,And her pretty curls were clustering round my whole.
IWASsitting in my study—In my first the fire was ruddy,And I watched it as I idly clasped my whole;Though a sober man I ’m reckoned,To my lips I raised my second,For I never was addicted to the bowl.I was waiting for my daughter,And at last I went and sought her—She has tresses like a golden aureole;But she hastily retreated,For her face was flushed and heated,And her pretty curls were clustering round my whole.
IWASsitting in my study—In my first the fire was ruddy,And I watched it as I idly clasped my whole;Though a sober man I ’m reckoned,To my lips I raised my second,For I never was addicted to the bowl.
I was waiting for my daughter,And at last I went and sought her—She has tresses like a golden aureole;But she hastily retreated,For her face was flushed and heated,And her pretty curls were clustering round my whole.
MYfirst did my lastTo make my whole;His day is past,Poor, restless soul!
MYfirst did my lastTo make my whole;His day is past,Poor, restless soul!
MYfirst did my lastTo make my whole;His day is past,Poor, restless soul!
SOMEthings we could well do without;In my total we gather with care.If my last ever lived, I ’ve no doubtThat he is my first, now, somewhere.
SOMEthings we could well do without;In my total we gather with care.If my last ever lived, I ’ve no doubtThat he is my first, now, somewhere.
SOMEthings we could well do without;In my total we gather with care.If my last ever lived, I ’ve no doubtThat he is my first, now, somewhere.
MYwhole ’s very narrow, but oft it may beA way of escape that is welcomed with glee.My first, although swift, sometimes loses the race;It is seen when we look a friend in the face.My last we may estimate, measure, or guess,The width of a coat and the length of a dress.
MYwhole ’s very narrow, but oft it may beA way of escape that is welcomed with glee.My first, although swift, sometimes loses the race;It is seen when we look a friend in the face.My last we may estimate, measure, or guess,The width of a coat and the length of a dress.
MYwhole ’s very narrow, but oft it may beA way of escape that is welcomed with glee.My first, although swift, sometimes loses the race;It is seen when we look a friend in the face.My last we may estimate, measure, or guess,The width of a coat and the length of a dress.
ALTHOUGHhis course the captain could my whole to a degree,Called to my first, he was my last upon a stormy sea.
ALTHOUGHhis course the captain could my whole to a degree,Called to my first, he was my last upon a stormy sea.
ALTHOUGHhis course the captain could my whole to a degree,Called to my first, he was my last upon a stormy sea.
YOUcan turn my first, and it gives a nod;You can turn my last if you will;But the more you try to turn my whole,The more it stands stock-still.
YOUcan turn my first, and it gives a nod;You can turn my last if you will;But the more you try to turn my whole,The more it stands stock-still.
YOUcan turn my first, and it gives a nod;You can turn my last if you will;But the more you try to turn my whole,The more it stands stock-still.
WHENthe story about Looking Backward we read,We learn of a strange human being,Who turned to my first; unlike many deed,The trouble was caused by far-seeing.In my second (though flowing with honey, I ’ve heard)I hope I shall ne’er be a dweller;And yet from my first to my second and thirdIs as far as from attic to cellar.My whole comes in pairs, and is useful to all,Though its style may be out of all reason;Its fashions are changing, now large and now small,And we ’re glad if it holds but a season.
WHENthe story about Looking Backward we read,We learn of a strange human being,Who turned to my first; unlike many deed,The trouble was caused by far-seeing.In my second (though flowing with honey, I ’ve heard)I hope I shall ne’er be a dweller;And yet from my first to my second and thirdIs as far as from attic to cellar.My whole comes in pairs, and is useful to all,Though its style may be out of all reason;Its fashions are changing, now large and now small,And we ’re glad if it holds but a season.
WHENthe story about Looking Backward we read,We learn of a strange human being,Who turned to my first; unlike many deed,The trouble was caused by far-seeing.
In my second (though flowing with honey, I ’ve heard)I hope I shall ne’er be a dweller;And yet from my first to my second and thirdIs as far as from attic to cellar.
My whole comes in pairs, and is useful to all,Though its style may be out of all reason;Its fashions are changing, now large and now small,And we ’re glad if it holds but a season.
THEsparkling wine was bright and red; ’t was tempting, but, alas!Full well I knew my whole, unseen, was lurking in the glass.And when, with wily argument, they offered it to me,I said I would not drink, and what I one, two, three!
THEsparkling wine was bright and red; ’t was tempting, but, alas!Full well I knew my whole, unseen, was lurking in the glass.And when, with wily argument, they offered it to me,I said I would not drink, and what I one, two, three!
THEsparkling wine was bright and red; ’t was tempting, but, alas!Full well I knew my whole, unseen, was lurking in the glass.And when, with wily argument, they offered it to me,I said I would not drink, and what I one, two, three!
MYfirst, when full, holds many a pound;In my last of my first a duke was drowned.My first of Troy is much renowned;My last an obstacle oft is found;’Mid songs and dances they heard the soundOf my whole one time when a king was crowned.
MYfirst, when full, holds many a pound;In my last of my first a duke was drowned.My first of Troy is much renowned;My last an obstacle oft is found;’Mid songs and dances they heard the soundOf my whole one time when a king was crowned.
MYfirst, when full, holds many a pound;In my last of my first a duke was drowned.My first of Troy is much renowned;My last an obstacle oft is found;’Mid songs and dances they heard the soundOf my whole one time when a king was crowned.
MYfirst can boast a head and tail,Has feathers and an eye,And sometimes wings; yet what avail?It cannot walk or fly.And St. Paul was my first, we ’re told;And my first may be boughtIn bottles,—but though rare and old,Its value ’s almost naught.Out of my last my first is made,My last is in a crown;And heroes wield its shining bladeFor glory and renown.My whole, a marvel of brute forceWith human power combined;We never see it now, of course,We ’ve left it far behind.
MYfirst can boast a head and tail,Has feathers and an eye,And sometimes wings; yet what avail?It cannot walk or fly.And St. Paul was my first, we ’re told;And my first may be boughtIn bottles,—but though rare and old,Its value ’s almost naught.Out of my last my first is made,My last is in a crown;And heroes wield its shining bladeFor glory and renown.My whole, a marvel of brute forceWith human power combined;We never see it now, of course,We ’ve left it far behind.
MYfirst can boast a head and tail,Has feathers and an eye,And sometimes wings; yet what avail?It cannot walk or fly.
And St. Paul was my first, we ’re told;And my first may be boughtIn bottles,—but though rare and old,Its value ’s almost naught.
Out of my last my first is made,My last is in a crown;And heroes wield its shining bladeFor glory and renown.
My whole, a marvel of brute forceWith human power combined;We never see it now, of course,We ’ve left it far behind.
MYfirst, the Scriptures say, in Eden grew.Pronounce its letters—there ’s my whole for you!My last name to myself I can’t apply;My whole, tradition says, could never lie.
MYfirst, the Scriptures say, in Eden grew.Pronounce its letters—there ’s my whole for you!My last name to myself I can’t apply;My whole, tradition says, could never lie.
MYfirst, the Scriptures say, in Eden grew.Pronounce its letters—there ’s my whole for you!My last name to myself I can’t apply;My whole, tradition says, could never lie.
MYlast was very tall and very slimSo all his people made a mock of him;Their jeerings worried him and grieved his soul;And when a clown with jest and laughter passed,And said, “Aha! you are my first, my last!”He said, “Don’t speak to me; I am my whole.”
MYlast was very tall and very slimSo all his people made a mock of him;Their jeerings worried him and grieved his soul;And when a clown with jest and laughter passed,And said, “Aha! you are my first, my last!”He said, “Don’t speak to me; I am my whole.”
MYlast was very tall and very slimSo all his people made a mock of him;Their jeerings worried him and grieved his soul;And when a clown with jest and laughter passed,And said, “Aha! you are my first, my last!”He said, “Don’t speak to me; I am my whole.”
I’doft be thankful, could I be my whole;And yet I would not always be my whole;I woo my first, that I may be my whole;Cockneys call her my last; but in my wholeWhen to my first I go, I am my whole.
I’doft be thankful, could I be my whole;And yet I would not always be my whole;I woo my first, that I may be my whole;Cockneys call her my last; but in my wholeWhen to my first I go, I am my whole.
I’doft be thankful, could I be my whole;And yet I would not always be my whole;I woo my first, that I may be my whole;Cockneys call her my last; but in my wholeWhen to my first I go, I am my whole.
“ABIRDin the hand is worth two in the bush,”How often we ’ve heard those old words,And my total, I have it on evidence strong,Is exactly the worth of two birds.The dome of St. Paul’s is my first, my last;The dome of St. Peter’s is, too;But if you should go there and see for yourself,You would say that this is n’t true.
“ABIRDin the hand is worth two in the bush,”How often we ’ve heard those old words,And my total, I have it on evidence strong,Is exactly the worth of two birds.The dome of St. Paul’s is my first, my last;The dome of St. Peter’s is, too;But if you should go there and see for yourself,You would say that this is n’t true.
“ABIRDin the hand is worth two in the bush,”How often we ’ve heard those old words,And my total, I have it on evidence strong,Is exactly the worth of two birds.
The dome of St. Paul’s is my first, my last;The dome of St. Peter’s is, too;But if you should go there and see for yourself,You would say that this is n’t true.
’TISgrowing dusk, yet in the gathering gloomI still can see two faces in the room.On one face two of my first I can spy,And on the other twenty I descry.And of my second, one face shows me noneWhile I see five upon the other one.My whole is on one face; but placed with careAbove the other rests on shining hair.
’TISgrowing dusk, yet in the gathering gloomI still can see two faces in the room.On one face two of my first I can spy,And on the other twenty I descry.And of my second, one face shows me noneWhile I see five upon the other one.My whole is on one face; but placed with careAbove the other rests on shining hair.
’TISgrowing dusk, yet in the gathering gloomI still can see two faces in the room.On one face two of my first I can spy,And on the other twenty I descry.And of my second, one face shows me noneWhile I see five upon the other one.My whole is on one face; but placed with careAbove the other rests on shining hair.
MYfirst grows by the riverside,And in the fields it has been seen;’T is raised on poles, the country’s pride,Dear to the peasant and the queen.The men had many battles braved,And on my last I saw them sit,Beside the General, who wavedMy last, and read aloud a writ.Beside a river flowing free,The spot marked by a grassy mound,My whole, nicknamed “Old Hickory,”Was long ago put in the ground.
MYfirst grows by the riverside,And in the fields it has been seen;’T is raised on poles, the country’s pride,Dear to the peasant and the queen.The men had many battles braved,And on my last I saw them sit,Beside the General, who wavedMy last, and read aloud a writ.Beside a river flowing free,The spot marked by a grassy mound,My whole, nicknamed “Old Hickory,”Was long ago put in the ground.
MYfirst grows by the riverside,And in the fields it has been seen;’T is raised on poles, the country’s pride,Dear to the peasant and the queen.
The men had many battles braved,And on my last I saw them sit,Beside the General, who wavedMy last, and read aloud a writ.
Beside a river flowing free,The spot marked by a grassy mound,My whole, nicknamed “Old Hickory,”Was long ago put in the ground.
MYwhole drops from trees.My last is a season,When as every one seesMy whole drops from trees.My first is a breeze,And that is the reasonMy whole drops from trees.My last is a season.
MYwhole drops from trees.My last is a season,When as every one seesMy whole drops from trees.My first is a breeze,And that is the reasonMy whole drops from trees.My last is a season.
MYwhole drops from trees.My last is a season,When as every one seesMy whole drops from trees.My first is a breeze,And that is the reasonMy whole drops from trees.My last is a season.
MYfirst is black and white and blue and red,’T is yellow, yes, and sometimes it is gray;’T is high and low, ’t is restless and ’t is dead,’T is writ for us to read and sing and play.My last is greeted with delight and dread,The farmer’s solace and the farmer’s bane;Trod by his feet, yet worn upon his head,Refreshed and ruined by a drenching rain.My whole lay deep beneath the waves, they said,But bravely rescued from the billow’s roll,Though dripping wet upon the sands outspread,With gladness and delight I pressed my whole.
MYfirst is black and white and blue and red,’T is yellow, yes, and sometimes it is gray;’T is high and low, ’t is restless and ’t is dead,’T is writ for us to read and sing and play.My last is greeted with delight and dread,The farmer’s solace and the farmer’s bane;Trod by his feet, yet worn upon his head,Refreshed and ruined by a drenching rain.My whole lay deep beneath the waves, they said,But bravely rescued from the billow’s roll,Though dripping wet upon the sands outspread,With gladness and delight I pressed my whole.
MYfirst is black and white and blue and red,’T is yellow, yes, and sometimes it is gray;’T is high and low, ’t is restless and ’t is dead,’T is writ for us to read and sing and play.
My last is greeted with delight and dread,The farmer’s solace and the farmer’s bane;Trod by his feet, yet worn upon his head,Refreshed and ruined by a drenching rain.
My whole lay deep beneath the waves, they said,But bravely rescued from the billow’s roll,Though dripping wet upon the sands outspread,With gladness and delight I pressed my whole.