Page 453 - The model orator, or, Young folks' speaker : containing the choicest recitations and readings from the best authors for schools, public entertainments, social gatherings, Sunday schools, etc. : including recitals in prose and verse ...
P. 453

A t the  door  of a  mansion  a child,  thinly  clad,
                            While the  cold wind  blew  fiercely,  was  begging for bread ;
                            A   rich  man passed  by  her as  trembling she  stood,
                            And  answered  her  coldly,  “ T  would  if I  could.11


                            The  scholar  receiving  his  teacher's  advice,
                            The swearer admonished  to  quit  such  a  vice,
                            The  child  when  requested  to  try  and  be  good,
                            Oft give the  same answer,  'T   would  if I  could.”


                            But if we  may  credit what  good  people:  say,
                            That where there's  a  will,  there  is  always  a w a y;
                            And  whatever  ought  to  be,  can  be, and  should—
                            We  never  need  utter,  “  I  would  it  1  eouid.”



                                             MEASURING  THE  BABY*

                                    “T   T E   measured  the  riotous baby
                                     y S l   Against the  cottage  wall— -
                                           A   lily  grew at  the threshold,
                                             And  the  boy  was  just  as  tall
                                    A   royal  tiger  lily,
                                       With  spots  of  purple  and  gold,
                                    And  .a heart  like  a  jewelled  chalice,
                                       The fragrant  dew to  hold.

                                    Without, the  bluebirds  whistled
                                       High  up  in  tile  old  roof  trees,
                                    And  to  and  fro  at the  window
                                       The  red  rose  rocked  her  bees;
                                    And the  wee  pink  lists  of  the  baby
                                       Were  never a  moment  still!
                                    Snatching  at shine  and  shadow
                                       That  danced  on  the  lattice-siLL
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