Children poems
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Anhelli - Chapter 3
© Juliusz Slowacki
And lo, once on a time at night the Shaman waked Anhelli,
saying to him : "Sleep not, but come with me,
for there are mighty matters in the wilderness."
The Little Worn Out Pony
© Anonymous
There's a little worn-out pony this side of Hogan's shack
With a snip upon his nuzzle and a mark upon his back;
Just a common little pony is what most people say,
But then of course they've never heard what happened in his day:
I was droving on the Leichhardt with a mob of pikers wild,
When this tibby little pony belonged to Hogan's child.
Feelings Of The Tyrolese
© William Wordsworth
THE Land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
Virgin Of Bethlehem
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Virgin of Bethlehem! spouse of the Holy One!
Star of the pilgrim on lifes stormy sea!
Humbler thy lot was than this worlds most lowly one,
List to the prayers that we offer to thee!
Old And New Year Ditties
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
New Year met me somewhat sad:
Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had
Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.
Give Us Rain
© Robert Graves
"Give us Rain, Rain," said the bean and the pea,
"Not so much Sun,
Not so much Sun."
But the Sun smiles bravely and encouragingly,
And no rain falls and no waters run.
To The Future
© James Russell Lowell
O Land of Promise! from what Pisgah's height
Can I behold thy stretch of peaceful bowers,
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 20
© William Langland
Thanne as I wente by the way, whan I was thus awaked,
Hevy chered I yede, and elenge in herte;
Hymn I
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O THOU, whose presence went before
Our fathers in their weary way,
As with Thy chosen moved of yore
The fire by night, the cloud by day!
The Bridal of Pennacook
© John Greenleaf Whittier
No bridge arched thy waters save that where the trees
Stretched their long arms above thee and kissed in the breeze:
No sound save the lapse of the waves on thy shores,
The plunging of otters, the light dip of oars.
Anticipation, October 1803
© William Wordsworth
SHOUT, for a mighty Victory is won!
On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
At The Farragut Statue
© Robert Seymour Bridges
But when the sun shines in the Square,
And multitudes are swarming in the street,
Children are always gathered there,
Laughing and playing round the hero's feet.
The Worlds Convention Of The Friends Of Emancipation, Held In London In 1840
© John Greenleaf Whittier
YES, let them gather! Summon forth
The pledged philanthropy of Earth.
From every land, whose hills have heard
The bugle blast of Freedom waking;
The Gift Of Play
© Edgar Albert Guest
Some have the gift of song and some possess the gift of silver speech,
Some have the gift of leadership and some the ways of life can teach.
Longing
© George MacDonald
My heart is full of inarticulate pain,
And beats laborious. Cold ungenial looks
Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain,
Wise in success, well-read in feeble books,
No nigher come, I pray: your air is drear;
'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear.
The Golden Age
© Alfred Austin
Nor this the worst! When ripened Shame would hide
Fruits of that hour when Passion conquered Pride,
There are not wanting in this Christian land
The breast remorseless and the Thuggish hand,
To advertise the dens where Death is sold,
And quench the breath of baby-life for gold!
Niobe
© Robert Laurence Binyon
``Zeus, and ye Gods, that rule in heaven above,
Is there naught holy, or to your hard hearts dear?
Have ye forgotten utterly to love,
Or to be kind, in that untroubled sphere?
If aught ye cherish, still by that I pray,
Destroy the life that ye have cursed this day!
The Children
© Edgar Albert Guest
The children bring us laughter, and the children bring us tears;
They string our joys, like jewels bright, upon the thread of years;
They bring the bitterest cares we know, their mothers' sharpest pain,
Then smile our world to loveliness, like sunshine after rain.
The Centennial Year
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
A Hundred years and she had sat, a queen
Sheltering her children, opening wide her gates
To all the inflowing tribes of earth. At first
Storms raged around her; but her stumbling feet
