Little Flower Folks, Or, Stories from Flowerland for the Home and School, Volume 1

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Educational Publishing, 1890
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Page 101 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Page 45 - Who knows whither the clouds have fled ? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache...
Page 130 - FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Page 102 - Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is...
Page 129 - IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals fallen in the pool Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Page 45 - Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers^ And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Page 45 - How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is...
Page 101 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er!
Page 44 - And what is so rare as a day in June ? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And groping blindly above it for light.
Page 32 - We must keep on our work clothes, for our life is not done ; but your clothes are for holiday, because your tasks are over.' Just then, a little puff of wind came, and the leaf let go without thinking of it. and the wind took it up, and turned it over and over, and whirled it like a spark of fire in the air and...

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