A poetical reading book [ed.] by W. M'Gavin

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William M'Gavin (editor of The union school song garland)

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Page 7 - What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day ? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger.
Page 70 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall: Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 7 - I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb.
Page 55 - These pretty Babes with hand in hand Went wandering up and down; But never more they saw the Man Approaching from the Town. In both these stanzas the words, and the order of the words, in no respect differ from the most unimpassioned conversation. There are words in both, for example, ' the Strand,
Page 32 - Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year...
Page 42 - A rose's brief bright life of joy, Such unto him was given ! — Go, thou must play alone, my boy ! Thy brother is in heaven." " And has he left the birds and flowers ? And must I call in vain ? And, through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again ? " And by the brook, and in the glade, Are all our wanderings o'er? Oh ! while my brother with me played, Would I had loved him more !
Page 8 - I'll tell thee; He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Page 65 - With soaring up so high ; Will you rest upon my little bed? " Said the spider to the fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around, The sheets are fine and thin ; And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in.
Page 62 - The youth obeyed, and sought for game In forests far away, Where, deep in silence and in moss, The ancient woodland lay. But once, in autumn's golden time, He ranged the wild in vain, Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, And wandered home again. The crescent moon and crimson eve Shone with a mingling light...
Page 32 - HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove ! Thou messenger of spring ! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. Soon as the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear. Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year ? Delightful visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.

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