St. Nicholas, Volume 9, Part 2

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Mary Mapes Dodge
Scribner, 1882
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Page 637 - A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free ; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thoughts.
Page 637 - Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow : You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school, Look in at the open door...
Page 662 - But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred, And only a light in the stable burned. And cradled there in the scented hay, In the air made sweet by the breath of kine, The little child in the manger lay, The child, that would be king one day Of a kingdom not human but divine. His mother Mary of Nazareth Sat watching beside his place of rest, Watching the even flow of his breath, For the joy of life and the terror of death Were mingled together in her breast.
Page 638 - Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them
Page 662 - Good people, I pray you, tell us the news ; For we in the East have seen his star, And have ridden fast, and have ridden far, To find and worship the King of the Jews." And the people answered, " You ask in vain ; We know of no king but Herod the Great ! " They thought the Wise Men were men insane, As they spurred their horses across the plain, Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.
Page 643 - Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. 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 living poems, And all the rest are dead.
Page 728 - When the heat like a mist-veil floats, And poppies flame in the rye, And the silver note in the streamlet's throat Has softened almost to a sigh, It is July. When the hours are so still that time Forgets them, and lets them lie 'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink At the sunset in the sky, It is July.
Page 662 - Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait. And when they came to Jerusalem, Herod the Great, who had heard this thing, Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them ; And said, " Go down unto Bethlehem, And bring me tidings of this new king.
Page 641 - I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon. Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came...
Page 938 - able to mount so high, it was in vain for me to search ' his resemblance here below ; so that I was forced to ' make an introspection into my own mind, and into ' that Idea of Beauty, which I have formed in my own

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