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ducks at pond
Onelittle black duck, one little gray,Six little white ducks, running out to play;One white lady-duck, motherly and trim,Eight little baby ducks, bound for a swim!One little white duck, holding up its wings,One little bobbing duck, making water-rings,One little black duck, turning round its head,One big black duck—guess he's gone to bed.One little white duck, running from the water,One very fat duck—pretty little daughter!One very brave duck, swimming off alone,One little white duck, standing on a stone.One little white duck, walking by its mother;Look among the water-reeds, maybe there's another.Not another anywhere? surely you are blind.Push away the grass, dear; ducks are hard to find.Bright little brown eyes! o'er the picture linger;Point me all the ducks out, chubby little finger!Make the picture musical, merry little shout!Now, where's that other duck? What is he about?Ithink the other duck's the nicest duck of all;He hasn't any feathers, and his mouth is sweet and small;He runs with a light step, and jumps upon my knee,And though he cannot swim, he is very dear to me.One white lady-duck, motherly and trim;Eight little baby-ducks, bound for a swim;One lazy black duck, taking quite a nap;One little precious duck, here on mamma's lap!
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Ifyou were an owl,And I were an owl,And this were a tree,And the moon came out,I know what we'd do.We would stand, we two,On a bough of the tree;You'd wink at me,And I'd wink at you;That's what we'd do,Beyond a doubt.I'd give you a roseFor your lovely nose,And you'd look at meWithout turning about.I know what we'd do(That is, I and you);Why, you'd sing to me,And I'd sing to you;That's what we'd do,When the moon came out.
an owl giving a rose to another owl"I'D GIVE YOU A ROSE."
"I'D GIVE YOU A ROSE."
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Holloa!What's the matter?Why this bustle,Noise and clatter?Mercy on us!Don't you knowLittle Pipkin'sStubbed his toe!What's that?Some one knocks.How the windShakes the locks!Run, quick!How absurd—Only a beggar,Upon my word!
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Wereyou ever heavy-hearted, little May?She tossed her pretty head,As right merrily she said,"Heavy hearted? No, not I;Yet a little makes me cry,And a little less than halfMakes me laugh—My mother often calls me 'April Day.'"Were you ever very happy, little May?Again she shook her head."I do not know," she said."Veryhappy? Who is so?Not a single soul, you know;Mother often tells me this,With a kiss;Our life, she says, is like an April day."Were you ever very naughty, little May?She flushed a rosy red,As, right saucily, she said,"Very naughty? Let me see:Why, Ihavebeen bad—for me;I have trod on, Pussy's toes,And I've torn my Sunday clo'es;And, oh!—now, don't you tell!—I mean to—well,Fool every one I know on April-day."
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There'sa fragrance in the blossom,But the fruit is better still;And the river rushes fartherThan ever could the rill.
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Birdiewith the folded wing,Shall we never hear you sing?Sleepy birdie, wake up quick!Pretty birdie, are you sick?Birdie, birdie! are you dead?Birdie, birdie! lift your head!Lift your head, and show your beak.Naughty birdie! won't you speak?Here is water for your cup;Here is sugar—eat it up:Here is sunshine warm and bright—Now he sings with all his might!
girl talking to bird on table by window
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woman eatingTHE SOUR OLD LADY.
THE SOUR OLD LADY.
Therewas an old lady all dressed in silk,Who lived upon lemons and buttermilk;And, thinking this world was a sour old place,She carried its acid all over her face;
woman eating matchesTHE OLD LADY WHO LIVED ON MATCHES.
THE OLD LADY WHO LIVED ON MATCHES.
Another old lady, all dressed in patches,Lived upon nothing but Lucifer matches;So the world, it made her strangle and cough,And sure as you rubbed her you set her off.Another old lady, all sunny and neat,Who lived upon sugar, and every thing sweet;Declared, when she heard of their troubles, she "never!"For the world was so nice she could live on forever.
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Lady sitting in chairTHE SUNNY OLD LADY
THE SUNNY OLD LADY
Now, children take your choiceOf the food your hearts shall eat;There are sourish thoughts, and brimstone thoughts,And thoughts all good and sweet;And whatever the heart feeds on,Dear children, trust to me,Is precisely what this queer old worldWill seem to you to be.
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boy trying to play a bass
PoorBilly boy was music mad,Oh music mad was he;And yet he was as blithe a ladAs any lad could be—With a hi-de-diddle,Bow and fiddle,Rig-a-my, ho! sang he—For Billy was as blithe a ladAs any lad could be."Nobody knows the joy I know,Or sees the sights I see,So play me high, or play me low,My fiddle's enough for me.It takes me here, it takes me there—So play me low or high—It finds me, binds me anywhere,And lifts me to the sky."With a hi-de-diddle,Bow and fiddle,Rig-a-my, ho! sang he—For Billy was as blithe a ladAs any lad could be.
fly
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shepherd
Oh!Shepherd John is good and kind,Oh! Shepherd John is brave;He loves the weakest of his flock,His arm is quick to save.But Shepherd John to little JohnSays: "Learn, my laddie, learn!In grassy nooks still read your books,And aye for knowledge burn.Read while you tend the grazing flock:Had I but loved my book,I'd not be still in shepherd's frock,Nor bearing shepherd's crook.The world is wide, the world is fair,There's muckle work to do.I'll rest content a shepherd still,But grander fields for you!"
boy lying on grass reading, sheep behind him
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girl washing, girl ironing
OnMonday I wash my dollies' clothes,On Tuesday smoothly press 'em;On Wednesday mend their little hose,On Thursday neatly dress 'em.
girl mending , girl dresing dollies
On Friday I play they're taken ill,On Saturday something or other;
girl playing with ill dollies, girl walking with dollies
But when Sunday comes, I say, "Lie still:I'm going to church with mother."
girl leaving dollies to go to chruch
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sleeping baby
Baby'sdreams are very bright,Though they come at dead of night,When the house is still;For a moonbeam comes to take herWhere the sweetest sounds shall wake her,Where she'll play at will.In the dreamland, far away,There do sleeping babies play,There they laugh and walk.All the day their speech is gone—Not a foot to stand upon—There they leap and talk.There the pretty candle-blaze,When they clutch it, brightly stays;There the stars so grandCome to meet the outstretched arm,Leap all sparkling to the palmOf the little hand.But in all that wondrous place,Still is smiling, mother's face;Mother's touch is there;And like music sweet and low,Though the baby does not know,Breathes the mother's prayer.So the baby laughs and playsThrough the happy dreamland ways(Close to heaven, maybe),Till the merry sunbeams take herTo her bed, and gently wake her.—Now, come see to Baby!
bird on grapevine
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Alltheir heads were bowed in prayer—Father's, mother's, boys' and girls',Grandma's, grandpa's—only Nelly,Little Nelly, shook her curls.Little Nelly shook her curls,Smiling, gazing all intent,Stared as ever at the sight—Wondered what on earth it meant.Busy firelight, flashing bright,Shot its frisky flamelets out;While the ship above the clockGayly tossed and pitched about.Roasted turkey, on his back,And the chickens, side by side,Had a perky, jaunty airFull of jollity and pride;Tempting pies and puddings near,Held their faces to the light;While canary in his cage,Piped and sang with all his might.Flowery carpet under foot,Hanging basket all a-bloom,Pearly, picture-covered wall—Drew the sunlight to the room.Little Nelly felt it all,Felt how blithe it was and fair;Yet the moment seemed so longThat the heads were bowed in prayer.If they only knew, she thought,How the room was full of play,They would never hide their facesIn that sober, solemn way.Laughing, staring, puzzled Nell!How could such a baby know'Twas the cheery, sunny gladnessThat had bowed their heads so low;That the blithesome, happy home-life,Birdie singing on the wall,And the laughing little mischief,Made them thank the God of all?
dove carrying branch
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Lulu'sBirthday—very queer!Comes to her but once a year;Comes when Winter snows are falling,Comes when Ocean winds are squalling,Comes when Nature's quite appalling,—Every thing so cold and drear.Lulu's Birthday—stranger still!Has to climb to her up hill;For the maiden is so knowing,That she spends her time in growing,Every year some change is showing,—Growing head, and heart, and will.Lulu's Birthday—it is clear—Likes to meet her every year;Likes to follow Lulu's scorning.So, with fairest flowers adorningAll the home, we give it cheer.And with prayer and watchful loving,Though the little maid keep moving,And the time be cold and drear,Sure as comes the Birthday morning,We shall try to have her here.
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woman wiht a moon head in the starry sky
TheMoon came late to the twinkling sky,To see what the stars were about:"Fair Night," quoth she, "are the family in?""Oh! no, they are, every one, out."
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AsI was a-going to market,I met a man with a goose.Says he: "Big boots with a boy!I guess you came from Toulouse."Says I: "Little goose with a man!How did you leave your mother?I guess you just came from home,For I see you've brought your brother."
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frog with many little frogs around
Twolittle froggies they sighed to one another:"Our puddle is all liquor and no meat.
many little frogs and some ants
Let us sit upon the bank, where the lovely mud is shining,And maybe we'll see something good to eat."Forty little ants said gayly to their mother:"O mother! we are going to the bogs;"But the forty little ants never dreamed they were goingJust to make a dainty dinner for the frogs.
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TTwolittle girls are better than oneTwo little boys can double the fun,Two little birds can build a fine nest,Two little arms can love mother best.Two little ponies must go to a span;Two little pockets has my little man;Two little eyes to open and close,Two little ears and one little nose,Two little elbows, dimpled and sweet,Two little shoes on two little feet,Two little lips and one little chin,Two little cheeks with a rose shut in;Two little shoulders, chubby and strong,Two little legs running all day long.Two little prayers does my darling say,Twice does he kneel by my side each day,—Two little folded hands, soft and brown,Two little eyelids cast meekly down,—And two little angels guard him in bed,"One at the foot, and one at the head."
T
Twolittle girls are better than oneTwo little boys can double the fun,Two little birds can build a fine nest,Two little arms can love mother best.Two little ponies must go to a span;Two little pockets has my little man;Two little eyes to open and close,Two little ears and one little nose,Two little elbows, dimpled and sweet,Two little shoes on two little feet,Two little lips and one little chin,Two little cheeks with a rose shut in;Two little shoulders, chubby and strong,Two little legs running all day long.Two little prayers does my darling say,Twice does he kneel by my side each day,—Two little folded hands, soft and brown,Two little eyelids cast meekly down,—And two little angels guard him in bed,"One at the foot, and one at the head."
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Birdieswith broken wings,Hide from each other;But babies in trouble,Can run home to mother.
crying little girl entering doorway
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Twolittle boys, named Willie,Live in the house with me.One is as good a darlingAs ever I wish to see;His eyes are glad, his smile is sweet,His voice is kind, his dress is neat,And he is the boy for me.This Willie says, "Good morning!"Happy as any bird;A merrier laugh, a lighter step,No mortal ever heard."Thank you," he says, and "If you please?"He will not pout, he will not tease—Oh! he is the boy for me!The other Willie, sad to say,Is very, very bad;I think he is as cross a childAs ever a mother had."Go 'way!" he shrieks. He squalls and cries,The angry tears oft fill his eyes—He is not the boy for me.He lingers round my Willie,And whispers evil things—Oh! how we dread him! for we knowThe sin and grief he brings!Who keeps him, then? Why, Willie's self;He keeps this wicked Willie-elfWho is not the boy for me.If I were you, my Willie,I'd make him stay away,—This boy who grieves your motherAnd spoils your brightest day,—For he lives in you where he doesn't belong;So oust him, Willie! Send him along!"Clear out!" I'd say, "old Fume and Fret!This heart of mine is not to let,—You're not the boy for me."
thistle
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Fourlittle piggies, bound for a frolic,Ate green apples till one got the colic.One was so greedy he stuffed his maw;One munched so hard that he cracked his jaw.One had the toothache and couldn't chew a bit,So he swallowed them whole and died in a fit.
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boy with top
Spinningyour top,Don't let it flop, boys;
boy running with hoop
Flying your kite,Pull with your might, boys.Rolling your hoop,Never you stoop, boys;Either stand still,Or play with a will.
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Good-morning, mamma! Good-morning, bright sun!Good-morning, papa! The day is begun.Good-morning to every one, pussy as well:Does he sleep like the rest, till he hears the first bell?Good-morning it is, for the sky is all blue,The grass is just shining and sparkling with dew;The birdies are singing their merriest song,And the air through the window comes sunny and strong.Good-morning it is, for dark was the night,And chilly and still; but the morning is bright.If God did not watch us and bring us the day,We'd never be able to get up and play.Good-morning, new day! I'm glad we're awake,Your work and your sunshine and frolic to take;And I'm glad we are able so gayly to callGood-morning! good-morning! Good-morning to all!
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spider and lady-bug
Lady-Bird, in gown so gay,Came creeping from the clover;Daddy Longlegs went that way,And nearly knocked her over."I'll tell my ant!" she cried out quick."It beats the bugs!" said he."A tad-polefor your walking stickWould suit you well," said she.
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bear
I wouldn'tbe a growler, I wouldn't be a bear;I wouldn't be an owlet, always on a stare;
owl and monkey
I wouldn't be a monkey, doing foolish tricks;I wouldn't be a donkey, full of sullen kicks.
donkey
I wouldn't be a goose,Nor a peacock full of pride,But I would be a big boy,With a pocket on each side.
peacock and goose
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Girl with bird on hand
Good-by, little birdie!Fly to the sky,Singing and singingA merry good-by.Tell all the birdies,Flying above,Nell, in the garden,Sends them her love.Tell how I found you,Hurt, in a tree;Then, when they're wounded,They'll come right to me.I'd like to go with youIf I could fly;It must be so beautifulUp in the sky!Why, little birdie!Why don't you go?You sit on my finger,And shake your head, "No!"—He's off! Oh! how quicklyAnd gladly he rose!I know he will love meWherever he goes.I know—for he reallySeemed trying to say,"My dear little Nelly,I can't go away."But just then some birdiesCame flying along,And sang as they neared usA chirruping song;And he felt just as I doWhen girls come and shoutRight under the window,"Come, Nelly! come out!"It 's wrong to be sorry;Ioughtto be glad;But he's the best birdieThat ever I had.
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Therewas an old weather-vane high on a shed,The wind came a courting and turned his head;And all it could utter for lack of mouthWas—East, and West, and North, and South.
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Dumpy Dickysaid, "I can't;"Joe said, "By and by;"Grumpy Jacky said, "I shan't;"Tommy said, "I'll try."
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a rat band
"Haveyou heard the news, good neighbor?""No. What is the news, I pray?""Why the cat went down to a concertAnd frightened the music away."
cat's face
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child with slate
Seemy slate! I dot it new,Tos I b'oke the other,Put my 'ittle foot right froo,Running after mother.I tan make you lots o' sings,Fass as you tan tell 'em,T's and B's and big O rings,Only I tan't spell 'em.I tan make a funny pigWid a turly tail-y,'Ittle eyes, and snout so bigPokin' in a pail-y.I tan make a elephant,Wid his trunk a-hangin';An' a boy—who says I tan't?—Wid his dun a-bangin'.An' the smoke a-tummin' out(Wid my t'umb I do it,Rubbin' all the white about),Sparks a-flyin' froo it.I tan make a bu-ful houseWid a tree behind it,An' a 'ittle mousy-mouseRunnin' round to find it.I tan put my hand out flatOn the slate, and draw it(Ticklin' is the worst of that)!Did you ever saw it?I tan domerunnin' 'bout—Mamma's 'ittle posset(Slate's so dusty, rubbin' out,Dess oo'd better wass it).Now, then, s'all I make a treeWid a birdie in it?All my picsurs you s'all seeIf you'll wait a minute.No, I dess I'll make a manJuss like Uncle Rolly.See it tummin', fass's it tan?Bet my slate is jolly!
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little pot holding a spoon looking at a large pot
Fumeand fury! I have causeTo tear about and break the laws.But, on the whole, I'd better not;"Little pots are soon hot."Little souls slights discover;Big souls pass 'em over.Big souls bear their trouble;Little souls sizz and bubble.Little souls oft ferment;Big souls are content.Big souls tumble slowly;Little souls—roly poly!Big souls, like as not,When it's fitting,doget hot.But "little pots" all grandeur spoil.I'll think a bit before I boil!
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Three-year-oldNell by the window-pane stood,A good little girl, and as pretty as good,Watching the snow come down—Falling so lightly,So swiftly and brightly,It whitened all the town."See, Aunty!" she cried, in a joyous strain,"Oh, Aunty, look out! and see the popped rain!The air is as full as can be;And it never stops,But it jumps and hops,Like the corn that you pop for me."Winter passed on; and Spring-time was here—Spring with its flowers, its brightness and cheer,And the birds were wild with song.Ah, sweet was the noteFrom each tiny throat!Nell listened the whole day long."Tell me, dear Aunty, what do they eat,These dear little birds, that they sing so sweet?"Nell asked, in her wonder and glee."Oh, Aunty,IthinkThey have sky to drink,And flowers for their breakfast and tea."The quick, green-winged katydids filled her with awe,Such wonderful creatures she'd ne'er seen before;For hours she would question and tease,Till, "They're leaves!" she said,"With legs and a head,And they're huntin' about for their trees."Why, Aunty, hold still! there's a girl in your eyes!"And queer little Nell fairly screamed with surprise."Why, Aunty, it's Nell in there!I can see it as plain—There! I see it again!Why, you're full of me everywhere!"
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Nevera night so dark and drear,Never a cruel wind so chill,But loving hearts can make it clear,And find some comfort in it still.
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boy in snow
Snow, snow, everywhere!Snow on frozen mountain peak,Snow on Flippit's sunny hair,Snow flakes melting on his cheek.Snow, snow, wherever you go,Shifting, drifting, driving snow.But Flippit does not care a pin,It's Winter without and Summer within.So, tumble the flakes, or rattle the storm,He breathes on his fingers and keeps them warm.
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Someone we cannot hear,Some one we cannot see,Shakes the baby,Wakes the baby,Makes him laugh with glee.
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Poorlittle Bessie! She tossed back her curls,And, though she is often the sweetest of girls,This was something she couldn't and wouldn't endure;'Twas the meanest, most impolite act, she was sure,And a thing, she declared, thatshenever would do:To go to a church where one didn't belong,Then walk down the aisle like the best in the throng,And seat one's self plump in another one's pew.Humph! Didn't her father own his out and out,And didn't they fill it up full, just about,When Mamma and Papa, and herself and the boys,Were seated? And didn't their boots make a noiseIn moving along to make room for a stranger?And wasn't it cool, with the brazenest face,To expect at each hymn Pa would find out the place(If Ben didn't, or Bob, but there wasn't much danger)?With such feelings at heart, and their print on her face,Last Sunday our Bessie hitched out of her "place"To make room for a girl, very shabby and thin,Who had stood in the aisle till mamma asked her in.The poor little thing tried her best not to crowdAnd Bessie, forgetting, soon had the mishapTo slip from her drowsiness into a nap,From which she soon wakened by crying aloud.Poor Bessie sat upright, with cheeks all a-flameAt sleeping in church, and trembled with shame;But 'twas strange at the close of the service to seeOur Bessie, now gentle as gentle could be,Take the hand of the shabby young girl in the pew,And walk with her out of the church with a smileThat shone through the tears in her eyes all the while,And brightened her face with a radiance new."Good-by," whispered Bessie at parting, "and mindOur pew's forty-five, with a pillar behind."Then she stole to her mother: "Oh, Mother, I dreamedSuch a curious dream! 'Twas no wonder I screamed.I thought I was sitting in church in this dress,With a girl like a beggar-girl right in our pew—We were sitting alone on the seat, just we two—And I felt more ashamed than you ever could guess;"When, all in a moment, the music grew loud,And on it came floating a beautiful crowd;They were angels, I knew, for they joined in the song,And all of them seemed in the church to belong.Slowly and brightly they sailed through the air;The rays from the window streamed crimson and blue,And lit them in turn as their forms glided through;—I could feel their soft robes passing over my hair."One came to my side. Very sadly she said,'There's a stranger in here.' I lifted my head,And looked at the poor shabby girl with disdain.'Tis not she,' said the angel; 'the haughty and vainAre the strangers at church. She is humble and true.'Then I cried out aloud, and the minister spoke,And just as they floated away I awoke,And there sat that dear little girl in our pew!"