Children poems

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Planting the Sand Cherry by Ann Struthers: American Life in Poetry #171 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laurea

© Ted Kooser

Sometimes I think that people are at their happiest when they're engaged in activities close to the work of the earliest humans: telling stories around a fire, taking care of children, hunting, making clothes. Here an Iowan, Ann Struthers, speaks of one of those original tasks, digging in the dirt.

Planting the Sand Cherry

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Heat-Lightning

© James Whitcomb Riley

  "'_If the darkened heavens lower,
  Wrap thy cloak around thy form;
  Though the tempest rise in power,
  God is mightier than the storm!_'"

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Contrasted Songs: A Lily And The Lute

© Jean Ingelow

“Nay! but thou a spirit art;
Men shall take thee in the mart
For the ghost of their best thought,
Raised at noon, and near them brought;
Or the prayer they made last night,
Set before them all in white.”

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Christmas Tears

© Henry Van Dyke

The day returns by which we date our years:

Day of the joy of giving,—that means love;

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Astraea: The Balance Of Illusions

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

Dear to his age were memories such as these,
Leaves of his June in life's autumnal breeze;
Such were the tales that won my boyish ear,
Told in low tones that evening loves to hear.

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Genesis BK XVIII

© Caedmon

(ll. 1082-1089) And there was also in that tribe another son of
Lamech, called Tubal Cain, a smith skilled in his craft.  He was
the first of all men on the earth to fashion tools of husbandry;
and far and wide the city-dwelling sons of men made use of bronze
and iron.

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Written For A Gentlewoman In Distress, To Her Grace Adelida, Dutchess Of Shrewsbury.

© Mary Barber

Might I inquire the Reasons of my Fate,
Or with my Maker dare expostulate;
Did I, in prosp'rous Days, despise the Poor,
Or drive the friendless Stranger from my Door?

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On A Landscape Bt Rubens

© William Lisle Bowles

Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full,

  Upon the rich creation, shadowed so

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The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son

© George Meredith

Thy knowledge of women might be surpassed:
As any sad dog's of sweet flesh when he quits
The wayside wandering bone!
No revilings of comrades as ingrates:  thee
The tempter, misleader, and criminal (screened
By laws yet barbarous) own.

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In The Garret

© Louisa May Alcott

Four little chests all in a row,

  Dim with dust, and worn by time,

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Ad Finem Fideles

© Guy Wetmore Carryl

Far out, far out they lie. Like stricken women weeping,

  Eternal vigil keeping with slow and silent tread—

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The Ancient Banner

© Anonymous

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,

The bosom of his Father, and assumed

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Kismet

© Jean Ingelow

Into the rock the road is cut full deep,
  At its low ledges village children play,
From its high rifts fountains of leafage weep,
 And silvery birches sway.

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What Is Christ?

© Katharine Lee Bates

I

OH, what is Christ, that we should call on Him?

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The Song Of Hiawatha VI: Hiawatha's Friends

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Two good friends had Hiawatha,

Singled out from all the others,

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Independence

© Charles Churchill

Happy the bard (though few such bards we find)

Who, 'bove controlment, dares to speak his mind;