Talking with the Pencil: Primary Lessons in Language

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American Book Company, 1898 - 128 pages

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Page 74 - 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.
Page 75 - 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. 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 78 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 72 - Up through the long shady lane, Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat-fields, That are yellow with ripening grain. They find, in the thick waving grasses, Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows. They gather the earliest snowdrops, And the first crimson buds of the rose.
Page 36 - Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here. Where did you get your eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here.
Page 82 - Boy's Song Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Page 42 - Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call, Down they came fluttering, one and all; Over the brown fields they danced and flew, Singing the soft little songs they knew.
Page 37 - Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by.
Page 59 - Tell all the birdies Flying above, Nell, in the garden, Sends them her love. Tell how I found you, Hurt, in a tree ; Then, when they're wounded, They'll come right to me.
Page 58 - A MAN of words and not of deeds Is like a garden full of weeds...

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