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And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.
LITTLE lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream, and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
Little lamb, 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,
Little lamb, God bless thee.
BEAUTIFUL the children's faces!
Spite of all that mars and sears:
To my inmost heart appealing;
Calling forth love's tenderest feeling;
Steeping all my soul with tears.
Eloquent the children's faces-
Poverty's lean look, which saith,
Save us! save us! woe surrounds us;
Little knowledge sore confounds us;
Life is but a lingering death!
Give us light amid our darkness;
Let us know the good from ill;
Hate us not for all our blindness ;
Love us, lead us, show us kindness-
You can make us what you will.
We are willing; we are ready;
We would learn, if you would teach; We have hearts that yearn towards duty; We have minds alive to beauty;
Souls that any heights can reach !
Raise us by your Christian knowledge :
Consecrate to man our powers;
Let us take our proper station;
We, the rising generation,
Let us stamp the age as ours!
We shall be what you will make us:
Make us wise, and make us good!
Make us strong for time of trial;
Teach us temperance, self-denial,
Patience, kindness, fortitude!
Look into our childish faces;
See you not our willing hearts?
Only love us-only lead us;
Only let us know you need us,
And we all will do our parts.
We are thousands-many thousands !
Every day our ranks increase;
Let us march beneath your banner,
We, the legion of true honour,
Combating for love and peace!
Train us! try us! days slide onward,
They can ne'er be ours again:
Save us, save! from our undoing!
Save from ignorance and ruin;
Make us worthy to be MEN!
Send us to our weeping mothers,
Angel-stamped in heart and brow!
We may be our fathers' teachers:
We may be the mightiest preachers,
In the day that dawneth now!
Such the children's mute appealing,
All my inmost soul was stirred;
And my heart was bowed with sadness
When a cry, like summer's gladness,
Said, "The children's prayer is heard!"
"O, MARY, go and cail the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee;"
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,
And all alone went she.
The western tide crept up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.
"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hairA tress of golden hair,
A drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,
Among the stakes on Dee."
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel, crawling foam,
The cruel, hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea:
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee.
WE wreathed about our darling's head the morning-glory bright,
Her little face look'd out beneath, so full of life and light,
So lit as with a sunrise, that we could only say,
She is the morning-glory true, and her poor types are they.
So always from that happy time we called her by their name,
And very fitting did it seem, for, sure as morning came,
Behind her cradle-bars she smiled to catch the first faint ray,
As from the trellis smiles the flower, and opens to the day.
But not so beautiful they rear their airy cups of blue,
As turned her sweet eyes to the light, brimmed with sleep's tender
And not so close their tendrils fine round their supports are thrown, As those dear arms, whose outstretch'd plea clasped all hearts to her own.
We used to think how she had come, even as comes the flower,
The last and perfect added gift to crown love's morning hour,
And how in her was imaged forth the love we could not say,
As on the little dew-drops round shines back the heart of day.
We never could have thought, O God, that she must wither up, Almost before a day was flown, like the morning-glory's cup; We never thought to see her droop her fair and noble head, Till she lay stretched before our eyes, wilted, and cold, and dead.
The morning-glory's blossoming will soon be coming round,
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves up-springing from the
The tender things the winter killed renew again their birth,
But the glory of our morning has passed away from earth.
O, earth, in vain our aching eyes stretch over thy green plain!
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, her spirit to sustain ;
But up in groves of Paradise full surely we shall see
Our morning-glory beautiful twine round our dear Lord's knee.
MARIA W. LOWELL.