| WE ARE SEVEN |
I met a little cottage girl; She was eight years old she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair, --Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And who are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be." [{455}] Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard 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. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchiefs there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit And sing a song to them. "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer And eat my supper there. "The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay Till God released her from her pain; And then she went away. "So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and 1. "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." [{456}] "How many are you then," said I, "If there are two in heaven?" Quick was the little maid's reply, "O master! We are seven." "But they are dead: those two are dead; Their spirits are in heaven!" 'T was throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!" |
| --William Wordsworth. |
JESUS IN THE TEMPLE
By William Holman Hunt (1827-1910)
One of the famous English school of so called pre-Raphaelite painters. This picture, "Jesus in the Temple," is one of his most celebrated paintings
| CHILDREN |
Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look toward the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, But in mine is the wind of autumn And the first fall of the snow. Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood,-- That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. [{460}] Come to me, O ye children! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. |
| --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. |
By permission of Houghton. Mifflin & Co.