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WILLIAM O S B O Rfeii-^-

Hope Street Schools, York.



London: 9 & 10, St. Bride's Avenue, Fleet Street, E.C.

Birmingham : 91 And 92, New Street.

Bristol : 34, Bridge Street.


This little book has been compiled by a teacher, who has long felt the want of a cheap and well-selected collection of poems for use in his own school. Preference has been given to those pieces which appeared most calculated to instil correct sentiments and promote sound moral development. The poems are not put in chronological order, but are arranged in the way in which experience has shown they should be read or committed to memory.



Down in a green and shady bed,'

A modest violet grew,
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,

As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;

And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see;

That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

J. Taylor.


High on a bright and sunny bed

A scarlet poppy grew,
And up it held its staring head,

And thrust it full in view.

Yet no attention did it win,

By all these efforts made,
And less unwelcome had it been

In some retired shade.
Although within its scarlet breast

No sweet perfume was found, It seemed to think itself the best

Of all the flowers a.ound.

From this may I a hint obtain,

And take great care indeed, Lest I appear as pert and vain

As does this gaudy weed.

T- Taylor.


Some Water and Oil
One day had a broil,
As down in a glass they were dropping;

And would not unite,

But continued to fight, Without any prospect of stopping.

Some Pearlash o'erheard,

And quick as a word,
He jumped in the midst of the clashing,

When all three agreed,

And united with speed,
And Soap was created for washing.


God gave to Afric's sons

A brow of sable dye,
And spreads the country of their birth

Beneath a burning sky;
And with a cheek of olive, made

The little Hindoo child,
And darkly stained the forest tribe

That roam the western wild.

To me he gave a form

Of fairer whiter clay;
But am I therefore in his sight

Respected more than they?
No: 'tis the hue of deeds and thoughts

He traces in his book,
Tis the complexion of the heart

On which he deigns to look.

Not by the tinted cheek,

That fades away so fast,
But by the colour of the soul

We shall be judged at last.
And God, the Judge, will look at me

With anger in his eyes,
If I my brother's darker brow

Should ever dare despise. Mrs. OIGoUrNEY.


Speak gently, it is better far

To rule by love than fear;
Speak gently! let not harsh words mar

The good we might do here.

Speak gently to the little child,

His love be sure to gain;
Teach it, in accents soft and mild,

It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear;
Pass through this life as best they may,

"Tis full of anxious care!

, Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the care-wom heart;

The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor,

Let no harsh tones be heard;
They have enough they must eadure.

Without an unkind word.

Speak gently to the erring ; know
They may have toiled in vain;

Perchance unkindness made them so,
Oh! win them back again!

Speak gently; 'tis a little thing
Dropp'd in the heart's deep well;

The good, the joy, which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.


There is a flower, a little flower,
With silver crest and golden eye,

That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field,

In gay but quick succession shine;
Race after race their honour yield,

They flourish and decline-
But this small flower to nature dear,

While moon and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year,

Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May,
To sultry August spreads its charms,

Lights pale October on its way,
And twines December's arms.

The purple heath, and golden broom,
On moory mountains catch the gale;

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