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And the dear little girls and their brothers;

And the babies so jolly and fat, Astride on the hips of their mothers

And as black as a gentleman's hat.

And the queer little heaps of old women;

And the shaven Buddhistical priests;
And the lake which the worshipers swim in;

And the wagons with curious beasts.

The tongue they talk mostly is Tamul,

Which sounds you can hardly tell how;
It is half like the scream of a camel,
And half like the grunt of a sow.

Phillips Brooks:



WAY to and fro in the twilight gray;

This is the ferry for Shadowtown; It always sails at the end of the day,

Just as the darkness closes down.

Rest, little head, on my shoulder so;

A sleepy kiss is the only fare; Drifting away from the world we go,

Baby and I in the rocking-chair.

See, where the fire-logs glow and spark,

Glitter the lights of the shadowland; The raining drops on the window, — hark!

Are ripples lapping upon its strand.

There, where the mirror is glancing dim,

A lake lies shimmering, cool and still ; Blossoms are waving above its brim,

Those over there on the window-sill.

Rock slow, more slow in the dusky light,

Silently lower the anchor down.
Dear little passenger, say "Good-night!
We've reached the harbor for Shadowtown!

- Motherhood.



H! the stars, one and all,

They had a great ball

One night, way up in the sky;
They invited the Earth
To join in their mirth,

But it feared to go up so high.

No fiddler had they
Their music to play,

And the stars were afraid 'twould fail;
But the man in the moon
He whistled a tune,

And the comet kept time with his tail.

They danced, and they danced,
And they pranced, and they pranced,

Till the Moon said 'twas all he desired;
For his lips were so sore
He could whistle no more,

And the comet began to get tired.

So they faded away
In the dim light of day,

The moon and the stars from the ball.
But sad to relate,
Next night they were late,
And came near not shining at all.

- Ladies' Home Journal

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Oh! let us loudly sing !
Thanks unto our God and King,
Thanks for this noble thing,

Father, to Thee !




'HERE are many flags in many lands,

There are flags of every hue, But there is no flag, however grand,

Like our own “Red, White, and Blue.”

I know where the prettiest colors are,

And I'm sure if I only knew
How to get them here I could make a flag

Of glorious “Red, White, and Blue.”

I would cut a piece from an evening sky,

Where the stars were shining through, And use it just as it was on high,

For my stars and field of blue.

Then I'd want a part of a fleecy cloud,

And some red from a rainbow bright; And put them together side by side,

For my stripes of red and white.

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.

Then hurrah for the flag ! our country's flag,

Its stripes and white stars too;
There is no flag in any land,
Like our own “Red, White, and Blue !”




WEET and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea;
Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea !
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west,

Under the silver moon;
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

- Tennyson

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