The Taylor School Readers: First Reader

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American Book Company, 1900 - Readers - 128 pages
 

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Page 56 - I chatter over stony ways, in little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret, by many a field and fallow, and many a fairy foreland set with willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow to join the brimming river; for men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever.
Page 4 - THERE are many flags in many lands, There are flags of every hue, But there is no flag, however grand, Like our own
Page 4 - We shall always love the Stars and Stripes, And we mean to be ever true To this land of ours, and the dear old flag, The Red, the White, and the Blue.
Page 90 - Pretty moon, pretty moon, How you shine on the door, And make it all bright On my nursery floor! You shine on my playthings, And show me their place, And I love to look up At your pretty bright face.
Page 64 - RAIN THE rain is raining all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea.
Page 119 - For peace and for plenty, for freedom, for rest, For joy in the land, from the east to the west; For the dear starry flag with its red, white, and blue, We thank Thee from hearts that are honest and true.
Page 101 - The pure white lily raised its cup At Easter time, at Easter time; The crocus to the sky looked up At happy Easter time. 'We'll hear the song of Heaven!
Page 96 - Where are you going to-day, Cocky-locky and Henny-penny ? " And they said, " Oh, Ducky-daddies, the sky is falling, and we are going to tell the king.
Page 72 - Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep, And can't tell where to find them, Leave them alone, and they'll come home, And bring their tails behind them.
Page 84 - OUT of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels. This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; This is the secret of despair, Long in...

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