I bought this old (1885) little volume of poetry for children from the DHM from the Common Room. In case there are others looking for copywork, dictation or recitation pieces for their boys, I thought I'd share the poems here on our blog.
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(**Update: I mistakenly thought these first few poems were from the "suitable for little boys" section but actually the first one is for little girls and the others are for both boys and girls. I will continue on with this project by posting the boys' poems first, then the girls', then the mixed ones. Sorry for the confusion.)
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Each week I'll try to remember to post a few. I'm notorious for not finishing projects that I start because I forget about them but if I leave this little book by my computer, hopefully it will force me to think about it. If you print them out each week, you will eventually have the whole little volume yourself. Enjoy!
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How Babies Grow
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Baby wee, baby wee!
What does little baby see?
All among her pillows lying,
Never fretful, never crying;
Caper and crow, caper and crow!
That's the way that babies grow!
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Baby fair, baby fair!
Rosy cheeks and curly hair,
Al among her pillows playing,
Little chubby hands displaying;
Caper and crow, caper and crow!
That's the way that babies grow!
JENNIE CARROLL
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"I Can" and "I Can't"
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"I Can't" is a sluggard, too lazy to work,
From duty he shrinks, every task he will shirk;
No bread on his board, and no meal in his bag,
His house is a ruin, his coat is a rag.
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"I Can" is a worker; he tills the broad fields,
And digs from the earth all the wealth that it yields;
The hum of his spindles begins with the light,
And the fires of his forges are blazing all night.
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER
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The Chickens
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Said the first little chicken,
With a queer little squirm,
"I wish I could find
A fat little worm."
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Said the next little chicken,
With an odd little shrug,
"I wish I could find
A fat little slug."
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Said the third little chicken,
With a sharp little squeal,
"I wish I could find
Some nice yellow meal."
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Said the fourth little chicken,
With a small sigh of grief,
"I wish I could find
A little green leaf."
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Said the fifth little chicken,
With a faint little moan,
"I wish I could find
A wee gravel stone."
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"Now, see here," said the mother,
From the green garden patch,
"If you want any breakfast,
Just come here and scratch."
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God's Mark On All Things
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There's not a leaf within the bower,
There's not a bird upon the tree,
There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee.
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MRS. AMELIA OPIE
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