The Cyr Readers: Arranged by Grades. Book 1-8, Libro 2Ginn, 1901 |
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
Anna apron baby beautiful Bessie birds birthday cake BLACKSMITH blossoms Bowdoin College bright bright eyes buds calyx căn căr câre Carl cars catch Charles River Charlie Children's Hour clouds corn corolla Daisy dear little Edith Elsie ĕş fish flowers Freddie gander geese gills glad golden center grandma Green Häns hǎp happy Harold Henry W Hiawatha hill leaves letter Lily little boy little duck LITTLE FRIEND little girl little squirrel lived lōne Longfellow wrote look Mabel mamma Mildred Miss Leslie Nelly nuts papa peep petals play playmates pretty brook pron quill quill pen rain fairies rill Rover SANTA CLARA COUNTY sepals sing sled snow SNOWFLAKES sunshine swim teacher tell thought took tree violets watch wind window wish woods wrote a poem yellow وو
Pasajes populares
Página 105 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Página 65 - OFTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up aud down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still : " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Página 94 - What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, — That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere.
Página 105 - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
Página 103 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Página 104 - He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach — He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more. How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Página 93 - CHILDREN COME to me, O ye children ! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow. But in mine is the wind of Autumn. And the first fall of the snow.
Página 47 - seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better; They are only one times one.
Página 44 - When first you felt the cold; And, in the splendid summer, While you flush and grow, Are you ever out of heart Thinking of the snow ? Did it feel like dying When first your blossoms fell ? Did you know about the spring ? Did the daisies tell ? If you had no notion, Only fear and doubt, How I should have liked to see When you found it out ! Such a beautiful surprise ! What must you have felt, When your heart began to stir, As the snow began to melt ! Do you mind the darkness As I used to do ? You...
Página 94 - For what are all our contrivings, And the- wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are the living poems, And all the rest are dead.