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From an old alphabet belonging to Miss Clara L. Bodman, and used by her kind permission.
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My father.My mother.My dear father.My dear mother.
"Honor thy father and thy mother."--Exodus 20:12."Children, obey your parents in all things, for this is well pleasing unto the Lord."--Colossians 3:20."My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother."--Proverbs 1:8.{28}Ibrothersisterlove
I love my father.I love my mother.I love my brother.I love my sister.
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THE DIVINE MOTHER AND THE CHILDBy Murillo (1618-1682)
Bartolome Esteban Murillo was born at Seville, Spain, January 1, 1618. Very poor at first, he afterward gained wealth and fame by his masterly work, which made him an artist of the first rank. "The peasant-painter of Spain," as he has been called, was a man of deep religious convictions. "He alone in the seventeenth century kept alive the pure flame of religious fervor which burned within the devout Italians of the early school." His Madonnas are all of an especially sweet and gentle and motherly type.
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My father loves me.My mother loves me.God loves me.God is my Father.God loves me.I love God.
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I have a home.I have a father.I have a mother.God gives me my father.God gives me my mother.God gives me my home.God gives me all I have.
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A QUIET AFTERNOON IN THE UPLAND PASTURES
"Go out in the springtime among the meadows that slope from the shores of the Swiss lakes to the roots of their lower mountains There, mingled with the taller gentians and the white narcissus, the grass grows deep and free; and as you follow the winding mountain paths, beneath arching boughs, all veiled and dim with blossom--paths that forever droop and rise over the green banks and mounds sweeping down in scented undulation, steep to the blue water, studded here and there with new mown heaps, filling all the air with fainter sweetness,--look up toward the higher hills, where the waves of everlasting green roll into their long inlets among the shadows of the pines: and we may perhaps at last know the meaning of those quiet words of the 147th Psalm, 'He maketh grass to grow upon the mountains.'"--John Ruskin
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See the grass.I see the grass.The grass grows.The grass is green.I see the green grass.God makes the grass.God makes the grass grow.God makes the green grass grow.
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I see a flower.The flower is a lily.The lily is white.I see a rose.The rose is red.I have a lily and a rose.I love the lily and the rose.Have you a flower?I have a white flower.God loves the flowers and makes them grow.
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RESTING BENEATH THE TREESBy Corot (1796-1875)
Jean Baptiste Camille Corot was a famous painter of landscapes. He was born at Paris, and while his work was not at first appreciated he is now recognized as one of the greatest of the French school.
"The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learnedTo hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,And spread the roof above them--ere he framedThe lofty vault, to gather and roll backThe sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down,And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanksAnd supplication. . . ."
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Do you see the bird?It is a sparrow.The sparrow flies.The sparrow makes a nest.It makes a nest in the green grass.See the nest in the grass!See the sparrow fly!God loves the sparrow.God is sorry when the sparrow is hurt.Do not hurt the sparrow.
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The day is done.The sparrow will go to bed.It will go to bed in its nest.The lily and the rose will go to bed.I will go to bed.I go to bed in my dear home.My mother will hear me say my prayer.I say my prayer to my Father in heaven.My Father in heaven loves to hear me say my prayer.
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THE "MATER AMABILIS IN GLORIA"By Bodenhausen
"The extremely popular 'Mater Amabilis in Gloria,' where a girlish young mother, her long hair streaming about her, stands in upper air, poised above the great ball of the earth, holding her sweet babe to her heart. Pictures like these constantly reiterate the story of a mother's love--an old, old story, which begins again with every new birth."--Hurll
{43}
It is night.I see a star.The star shines at night.The star twinkles.The star twinkles in the sky.Do you see the star?It shines above the trees.I love to see the birds, and the flowers, and the stars.God made them all.God loves them all.God loves you.
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The night is done.The day is here.I awaken when it is day.The birds awaken when it is day.The flowers awaken when it is day.I see the sun in the sky.The sun rises above the hills.The sun rises above the trees.The birds and the flowers are glad to see the sun.Are you glad the night is done?
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THE INFANT SAMUELBy Reynolds (1723-1792)
Sir Joshua Reynolds is thought by many to have been the greatest of English painters. He was a Devonshire lad, and was intended by his father for the medical profession. He early showed such aptitude for painting that he was permitted to have his way, and after studying in Italy, returned to England, where an exhibition of his work aroused great enthusiasm, and his popularity continued through his life.
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See this little child.He is going to bed.He is saying his prayer.He is kneeling beside his bed.He is thanking his Father in heaven for his goodness.Do you say your prayer?I say my prayer night and morning.
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Clouds cover the sky.The rain falls.The rain waters the earth.The flowers in the garden are glad.The red rose is glad.The white lily is glad.The green grass is glad.The rain makes the grass grow.The sheep and the cows eat the grass.God gives the rain.God makes the grass grow for the sheep and the cows.
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PLOWING IN PALESTINECopyright by Underwood & Underwood and used by special permission
Very little advance has been made in methods of agriculture in Palestine since the early days of which the Bible tells. The plow is often still the crooked stick, sometimes strengthened by iron, but still very primitive. It is no wonder that crops are so poor and life is so hard under these conditions
{51}
The Spring-time has come.The birds have come.The blue-birds are flying in the air.I see a robin in my garden.I will go to my garden.I will plant seeds in my garden.The seeds will grow to be flowers.I love to see them grow.Have you a garden?Do you see the birds in your garden?What seeds do you plant in your garden?God makes the flowers grow.He gives the rain and the sun.The rain and the sun help to make the flowers grow.
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Summer is here.The birds sing in the trees.I hear the robins sing.The flowers have come.I will go to my garden and pick the roses and the lilies.The sun shines brightly.I love the warm sun.The bees hum in the garden.The woods are cool.I love the cool woods.Who gives us the warm summer days?God gives us the summer days.
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"The autumn-time has come;On woods that dream of bloom,And over purpling vines,The low sun fainter shines.The aster-flower is failing,The hazel's gold is paling;Yet overhead more nearThe eternal stars appear!"
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This is autumn.The summer has gone.The nights are frosty.The days are cool.The trees are red and yellow.The leaves are falling from the trees.Soon the snow will come.The moon is large in the sky.It looks like a great yellow ball.The stars shine brightly.I love to see the moon and the stars.{56}I love the large red apples.Have you apples in your garden?I love the peaches and the pears.I go with my father to the woods, and gather nuts.I will crack the nuts on the frosty nights, and eat them before the fire.God made the apples, and nuts, and peaches, and pears.I will thank God for his goodness.
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"Leafless are the trees; their purple branchesSpread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral,Rising silentIn the Red Sea of the winter sunset."
"A chill no coat, however stout,Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,A hard, dull bitterness of cold,That checked, mid-vein, the circling raceOf life blood in the sharpened face,The coming of the snowstorm told."
{59}
It is winter.Summer and autumn have gone.The air is cold.The robins and the bluebirds have gone.The snow falls from the sky.The snow covers the hills and the woods and the fields.The flowers sleep under the snow in my garden.They will wake when it is spring.{60}The lake is frozen.I see the white snow in my garden.I love to play in the snow.I will make a fort of the white snow in my garden.I love the cold winter days.God gives us the winter days as well as the summer days.
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"Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play,Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow--Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now."
{63}
Harold went to the sea-shore.He went with his father and his mother.It was summer when he went.The days were long and bright.He played all day on the beach.He dug in the sand.He made hills in the sand.When he went to bed at night, he heard the sea.{64}He said his prayer beside his mother, and the sea sang him to sleep with its song.He saw the sea when the sun rose in the morning.The sun rose above the sea, when the night was gone, and the stars went to sleep.In the bright morning, he saw the ships sailing on the sea.No man owns the sea.God made it, and it is his.
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"You should have seen that long hill-rangeWith gaps of brightness riven,How through each pass and hollow streamedThe purpling lights of heaven,--"Rivers of gold-mist flowing downFrom far celestial fountains,--The great sun flaming through the riftsBeyond the wall of mountains."
{67}
The mountains are high.They are often covered with trees.Brooks flow down the mountains.Margaret went to the mountains in summer.She could not climb the mountains.She played in the woods and fields near the mountains.She picked the red and white and yellow flowers in the fields.She saw the birds and the bees and the beautiful trees.{68}She loved the brook.She loved to see the mountains.They were beautiful when the sun set.When she said her prayer at night, she looked at the beautiful hills and mountains.It made her think of God to see the mountains which he made.
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When morning gilds the skies,My heart awaking cries,May Jesus Christ be praised!Alike at work and prayer,To Jesus I repair;May Jesus Christ be praised!To Thee, O God above,I cry with glowing love,May Jesus Christ be praised!This song of sacred joy,It never seems to cloy,May Jesus Christ be praised!Does sadness fill my mind?A solace here I find,May Jesus Christ be praised!Or fades my earthly bliss?My comfort still is this,May Jesus Christ be praised!When evil thoughts molest,With this I shield my breast,May Jesus Christ be praised!The powers of darkness fear,When this sweet chant they hear,May Jesus Christ be praised!When sleep her balm denies,My silent spirit sighs,May Jesus Christ be praised!{72}The night becomes as day,When from the heart we say,May Jesus Christ be praised!Be this, while life is mine,My canticle divine,May Jesus Christ be praised!Be this the eternal song,Through all the ages long,May Jesus Christ be praised!