V.
A Song of Green Valleys! O, joys that they bring
Where the breeze whispers love in the love-days of spring,
And the songs of the thrush from the love gardens float
With the music that spills from the mocking-bird's throat!
VI.
A Song of Green Valleys! O, valleys that spread
From the croon of the babe to the dirge of the dead,
Beyond the long journey we leave you,—but then,
God grant we shall meet you and have you again!
Ate Boys Himself.
He was a four year old Oklahoma Fountleroy, in knee pants, and with golden curls that would make an angel envious. His face still wore the divine beauty of the cradle, and his large, luminous eyes reflected an innocence unspotted of the world.
But the carpenter on the building did not appreciate his company. He was always in the way. So the carpenter thought he would frighten him away, by a story of horrible danger.
"Do you see that big man coming there?" said the carpenter to him.