The Project Gutenberg eBook ofMy Flower-potThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: My Flower-potAuthor: UnknownRelease date: May 21, 2008 [eBook #25553]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FLOWER-POT ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: My Flower-potAuthor: UnknownRelease date: May 21, 2008 [eBook #25553]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)
Title: My Flower-pot
Author: Unknown
Author: Unknown
Release date: May 21, 2008 [eBook #25553]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FLOWER-POT ***
MYFLOWER-POT.CONCORD, N. H.:RUFUS MERRILL.CHILD’SPICTURE BOOK.CONCORD, N. H.:RUFUS MERRILL.I love the flowers, the fragrant flowers!They’re fairy things to me;They seem like angels sent to bless,And teach of purity.MY FLOWER-POT.FLOWERS.There is beauty in flowersWhen kissed by the showersThat fall in the bowersOf gardens so fair,When music is tellingIn notes that are swelling,And love is excelling,Aloft in the air.Birds now are singing,Deep valleys are ringing,And harmony bringingContent to the mind.Flowers are caressing,And sending a blessingTo all now confessingTo be to them kind.Minds soon are rovingTo lands that are bloomingAfar from the gloomingOf woe and despair,Saying, “Come to the bowersFilled with rare flowers—Nature’s kind dowers,Free as the air.”Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:See the lily on the bed,Hanging down its modest head;While it scarcely can be seen,Folded in its leaf of green.Yet we love the lily well,For its sweet and pleasant smell,And would rather call it oursThan many other gayer flowers;Pretty lilies seem to beEmblems of humility.’Tis not beauty that we prize,—Like a summer flower it dies.But humility will last,Fair and sweet, when beauty’s past;And the Saviour, from above,Views a humble child with love.Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:Let your temper be as sweetAs the lily at your feet;Be as gentle, be as mild:Be a modest, simple child.The Forget-me-not.There is a sweet, a lovely flower,Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,Pure as the ether in its hourOf loveliest and serenest blue.The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks,The silent fount, the shaded grot;And sweetly to the heart it speaks—Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.See the flowers, how they grow;Hear the winds that gently blow.Bird and insect, flower and tree,Know they must not idle be;Each has something it must do—Little children, so must you.The buds and the blossoms,How bright to the view!Like jewels and diamonds,They sparkle with dew.The sun’s rising beamsHave greeted each flower:How lovely the scene,How peaceful the hour!All nature awakensFrom a night of soft sleep,And the insects once moreFrom their hiding-holes creep.The old birds have flownFar away to get food,While anxiously waitTheir timid young brood.To our Father in heavenOur voices we’ll raise,With feelings most fervent,In songs to his praise.Dear Saviour, to love theeOur hearts are inclined;Oh, teach us, we pray thee,Thy precepts to mind!Upon our heart-garden,Oh, let thy love rain,Like fresh summer showersUpon the young grain.Like soft, gentle dewUpon the dry earth,Which opens the old buds,And to new ones gives birth.O, teach us to offerGood deeds in thy praise,And acts of true charityBe the hymns that we raise.From all that will harm us,Or sorrow will bring,Oh, keep us, dear Lord,Beneath thy bright wing.WHO MADE THE FLOWERS?Say, Ma! did God make all the flowersThat richly bloom to-day?And is it he that sends sweet showersTo make them look so gay?Did he make all the mountainsThat rear their heads so high?And all the little fountainsThat glide so gently by?And does he care for children small?Say, Ma! does God love me?Has he the guardian care of allThe various things we see?Yes! yes! my child, he made them all,—Flowers, mountains, plants and tree;No man so great, no child so small,That from his eye can flee!RUFUS MERRILL,OPPOSITE GASS’ HOTEL,CONCORD, N. H.MANUFACTURESDIARIES for each year,FAMILY EXPENDITURE DIARIES,TUCK MEMORANDUMS of all sizes,BLANK NOTE BOOKS,BLANK RECEIPT BOOKS,COURT DOCKETS,TOWN RECORDS,INVENTORY BOOKS,COUNTY RECORDS,BLANK DEEDS, LEASES,COURT AND JUSTICE WRITS,and all other Blanks used by Sheriffs,Justices, Selectmen, &c. &c.R. M. is general Agent for all REVIEWS, MAGAZINES, and PERIODICALS, and will furnish them at the publishers’ prices.
I love the flowers, the fragrant flowers!They’re fairy things to me;They seem like angels sent to bless,And teach of purity.
I love the flowers, the fragrant flowers!They’re fairy things to me;They seem like angels sent to bless,And teach of purity.
I love the flowers, the fragrant flowers!They’re fairy things to me;They seem like angels sent to bless,And teach of purity.
There is beauty in flowersWhen kissed by the showersThat fall in the bowersOf gardens so fair,When music is tellingIn notes that are swelling,And love is excelling,Aloft in the air.
There is beauty in flowersWhen kissed by the showersThat fall in the bowersOf gardens so fair,When music is tellingIn notes that are swelling,And love is excelling,Aloft in the air.
There is beauty in flowersWhen kissed by the showersThat fall in the bowersOf gardens so fair,When music is tellingIn notes that are swelling,And love is excelling,Aloft in the air.
Birds now are singing,Deep valleys are ringing,And harmony bringingContent to the mind.Flowers are caressing,And sending a blessingTo all now confessingTo be to them kind.
Birds now are singing,Deep valleys are ringing,And harmony bringingContent to the mind.Flowers are caressing,And sending a blessingTo all now confessingTo be to them kind.
Birds now are singing,Deep valleys are ringing,And harmony bringingContent to the mind.Flowers are caressing,And sending a blessingTo all now confessingTo be to them kind.
Minds soon are rovingTo lands that are bloomingAfar from the gloomingOf woe and despair,Saying, “Come to the bowersFilled with rare flowers—Nature’s kind dowers,Free as the air.”
Minds soon are rovingTo lands that are bloomingAfar from the gloomingOf woe and despair,Saying, “Come to the bowersFilled with rare flowers—Nature’s kind dowers,Free as the air.”
Minds soon are rovingTo lands that are bloomingAfar from the gloomingOf woe and despair,Saying, “Come to the bowersFilled with rare flowers—Nature’s kind dowers,Free as the air.”
Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:See the lily on the bed,Hanging down its modest head;While it scarcely can be seen,Folded in its leaf of green.
Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:See the lily on the bed,Hanging down its modest head;While it scarcely can be seen,Folded in its leaf of green.
Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:See the lily on the bed,Hanging down its modest head;While it scarcely can be seen,Folded in its leaf of green.
Yet we love the lily well,For its sweet and pleasant smell,And would rather call it oursThan many other gayer flowers;Pretty lilies seem to beEmblems of humility.’Tis not beauty that we prize,—Like a summer flower it dies.
Yet we love the lily well,For its sweet and pleasant smell,And would rather call it oursThan many other gayer flowers;Pretty lilies seem to beEmblems of humility.’Tis not beauty that we prize,—Like a summer flower it dies.
Yet we love the lily well,For its sweet and pleasant smell,And would rather call it oursThan many other gayer flowers;Pretty lilies seem to beEmblems of humility.
’Tis not beauty that we prize,—Like a summer flower it dies.
But humility will last,Fair and sweet, when beauty’s past;And the Saviour, from above,Views a humble child with love.Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:Let your temper be as sweetAs the lily at your feet;Be as gentle, be as mild:Be a modest, simple child.
But humility will last,Fair and sweet, when beauty’s past;And the Saviour, from above,Views a humble child with love.Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:Let your temper be as sweetAs the lily at your feet;Be as gentle, be as mild:Be a modest, simple child.
But humility will last,Fair and sweet, when beauty’s past;And the Saviour, from above,Views a humble child with love.
Come, my love, and do not spurnFrom a little flower to learn:Let your temper be as sweetAs the lily at your feet;Be as gentle, be as mild:Be a modest, simple child.
There is a sweet, a lovely flower,Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,Pure as the ether in its hourOf loveliest and serenest blue.The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks,The silent fount, the shaded grot;And sweetly to the heart it speaks—Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.
There is a sweet, a lovely flower,Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,Pure as the ether in its hourOf loveliest and serenest blue.The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks,The silent fount, the shaded grot;And sweetly to the heart it speaks—Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.
There is a sweet, a lovely flower,Tinged deep with faith’s unchanging hue,Pure as the ether in its hourOf loveliest and serenest blue.
The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks,The silent fount, the shaded grot;And sweetly to the heart it speaks—Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.
See the flowers, how they grow;Hear the winds that gently blow.Bird and insect, flower and tree,Know they must not idle be;Each has something it must do—Little children, so must you.
See the flowers, how they grow;Hear the winds that gently blow.Bird and insect, flower and tree,Know they must not idle be;Each has something it must do—Little children, so must you.
See the flowers, how they grow;Hear the winds that gently blow.Bird and insect, flower and tree,Know they must not idle be;Each has something it must do—Little children, so must you.
The buds and the blossoms,How bright to the view!Like jewels and diamonds,They sparkle with dew.The sun’s rising beamsHave greeted each flower:How lovely the scene,How peaceful the hour!
The buds and the blossoms,How bright to the view!Like jewels and diamonds,They sparkle with dew.The sun’s rising beamsHave greeted each flower:How lovely the scene,How peaceful the hour!
The buds and the blossoms,How bright to the view!Like jewels and diamonds,They sparkle with dew.
The sun’s rising beamsHave greeted each flower:How lovely the scene,How peaceful the hour!
All nature awakensFrom a night of soft sleep,And the insects once moreFrom their hiding-holes creep.The old birds have flownFar away to get food,While anxiously waitTheir timid young brood.
All nature awakensFrom a night of soft sleep,And the insects once moreFrom their hiding-holes creep.The old birds have flownFar away to get food,While anxiously waitTheir timid young brood.
All nature awakensFrom a night of soft sleep,And the insects once moreFrom their hiding-holes creep.
The old birds have flownFar away to get food,While anxiously waitTheir timid young brood.
To our Father in heavenOur voices we’ll raise,With feelings most fervent,In songs to his praise.Dear Saviour, to love theeOur hearts are inclined;Oh, teach us, we pray thee,Thy precepts to mind!Upon our heart-garden,Oh, let thy love rain,Like fresh summer showersUpon the young grain.Like soft, gentle dewUpon the dry earth,Which opens the old buds,And to new ones gives birth.
To our Father in heavenOur voices we’ll raise,With feelings most fervent,In songs to his praise.Dear Saviour, to love theeOur hearts are inclined;Oh, teach us, we pray thee,Thy precepts to mind!Upon our heart-garden,Oh, let thy love rain,Like fresh summer showersUpon the young grain.Like soft, gentle dewUpon the dry earth,Which opens the old buds,And to new ones gives birth.
To our Father in heavenOur voices we’ll raise,With feelings most fervent,In songs to his praise.
Dear Saviour, to love theeOur hearts are inclined;Oh, teach us, we pray thee,Thy precepts to mind!
Upon our heart-garden,Oh, let thy love rain,Like fresh summer showersUpon the young grain.
Like soft, gentle dewUpon the dry earth,Which opens the old buds,And to new ones gives birth.
O, teach us to offerGood deeds in thy praise,And acts of true charityBe the hymns that we raise.From all that will harm us,Or sorrow will bring,Oh, keep us, dear Lord,Beneath thy bright wing.
O, teach us to offerGood deeds in thy praise,And acts of true charityBe the hymns that we raise.From all that will harm us,Or sorrow will bring,Oh, keep us, dear Lord,Beneath thy bright wing.
O, teach us to offerGood deeds in thy praise,And acts of true charityBe the hymns that we raise.
From all that will harm us,Or sorrow will bring,Oh, keep us, dear Lord,Beneath thy bright wing.
Say, Ma! did God make all the flowersThat richly bloom to-day?And is it he that sends sweet showersTo make them look so gay?Did he make all the mountainsThat rear their heads so high?And all the little fountainsThat glide so gently by?
Say, Ma! did God make all the flowersThat richly bloom to-day?And is it he that sends sweet showersTo make them look so gay?Did he make all the mountainsThat rear their heads so high?And all the little fountainsThat glide so gently by?
Say, Ma! did God make all the flowersThat richly bloom to-day?And is it he that sends sweet showersTo make them look so gay?
Did he make all the mountainsThat rear their heads so high?And all the little fountainsThat glide so gently by?
And does he care for children small?Say, Ma! does God love me?Has he the guardian care of allThe various things we see?Yes! yes! my child, he made them all,—Flowers, mountains, plants and tree;No man so great, no child so small,That from his eye can flee!
And does he care for children small?Say, Ma! does God love me?Has he the guardian care of allThe various things we see?Yes! yes! my child, he made them all,—Flowers, mountains, plants and tree;No man so great, no child so small,That from his eye can flee!
And does he care for children small?Say, Ma! does God love me?Has he the guardian care of allThe various things we see?
Yes! yes! my child, he made them all,—Flowers, mountains, plants and tree;No man so great, no child so small,That from his eye can flee!
RUFUS MERRILL,OPPOSITE GASS’ HOTEL,CONCORD, N. H.MANUFACTURESDIARIES for each year,FAMILY EXPENDITURE DIARIES,TUCK MEMORANDUMS of all sizes,BLANK NOTE BOOKS,BLANK RECEIPT BOOKS,COURT DOCKETS,TOWN RECORDS,INVENTORY BOOKS,COUNTY RECORDS,BLANK DEEDS, LEASES,COURT AND JUSTICE WRITS,and all other Blanks used by Sheriffs,Justices, Selectmen, &c. &c.R. M. is general Agent for all REVIEWS, MAGAZINES, and PERIODICALS, and will furnish them at the publishers’ prices.
RUFUS MERRILL,OPPOSITE GASS’ HOTEL,CONCORD, N. H.MANUFACTURES
DIARIES for each year,FAMILY EXPENDITURE DIARIES,TUCK MEMORANDUMS of all sizes,BLANK NOTE BOOKS,BLANK RECEIPT BOOKS,COURT DOCKETS,TOWN RECORDS,INVENTORY BOOKS,COUNTY RECORDS,BLANK DEEDS, LEASES,COURT AND JUSTICE WRITS,and all other Blanks used by Sheriffs,Justices, Selectmen, &c. &c.
R. M. is general Agent for all REVIEWS, MAGAZINES, and PERIODICALS, and will furnish them at the publishers’ prices.