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angels bear beautiful beneath birds bless bread bright bring brother cheer cottage daily dear death dwell earth eyes face fair fall Father fear fields flowers forget gentle give given God's gone grace grave green grief grow guard hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven heavenly holy hour HYMN Jesus keep kind lambs lesson light little child little children live look Lord mild morning mother never night o'er pain Passing peace play poor praise pray prayer pretty rest round Saviour seven shining sight sing sleep smile snowdrops soft song sorrow Speak spirit spring summer sure sweet Take tears tell tender thee things thou thought to-day tree Trust Twas voice watch wing young
17 psl. - Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, ' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, 'Who fell in the great victory.
65 psl. - I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen his kind look, when he said, " Let the little ones come unto me.
66 psl. - The rich man in his castle, The poor man at his gate, God made them high and lowly, And ordered their estate.
19 psl. - They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.
66 psl. - ALL things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all.
38 psl. - LITTLE drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land.
9 psl. - You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray.
56 psl. - And often after sunset, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.
20 psl. - And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.' 'But what good came of it at last?' Quoth little Peterkin: 'Why, that I cannot tell,' said he, 'But 'twas a famous victory.
74 psl. - HOW doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower...