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120 psl. - Two of us in the church-yard lie, Beneath the church-yard tree." " You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five. " " Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied ; " Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.
162 psl. - MY God, how endless is thy love ! Thy gifts are every evening new ; And morning mercies from above Gently distil like early dew. 2 Thou spread'st the curtains of the night, Great Guardian of my sleeping hours ; Thy sovereign word restores the light, And quickens all my drowsy powers.
122 psl. - So in the church-yard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?
120 psl. - Then did the little maid reply, " Seven boys and girls are we ; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree.
118 psl. - ... -A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
238 psl. - TWINKLE, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are, Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky.
236 psl. - Not there, not there, my child! Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, . And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ? Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? Not there, not there, my child!
168 psl. - I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
26 psl. - LAMB MARY had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to go.
237 psl. - Not there, not there, my child !" " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, Far beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child !