Henry was every morning fed With a full mess of milk and bread… One day the boy his breakfast took… And eat it by a purling brook Which through his mother’s orchard…

A little child, who had desired To go and see the Park guns fired… Was taken by his maid that way Upon the next rejoicing day. Soon as the unexpected stroke

To Jesus our Saviour some parents… Their children—what fears and what… When this the disciples would fain… Our Saviour reproved their unseas… Not only free leave to come to him…

A dinner party, coffee, tea, Sandwich, or supper, all may be In their way pleasant. But to me Not one of these deserves the prai… That welcomer of new—born days,

'Your prayers you have said, and y… What cause is there yet keeps my d… This throb in your bosom proclaims… Disturbs your composure. Can inno… ‘Why thus do you cling to my neck,…

Abject, stooping, old, and wan, See yon wretched beggar—man; Once a father’s hopeful heir, Once a mother’s tender care. When too young to understand

An Ape is but a trivial beast, Men count it light and vain; But I would let them have their t… To have my Ape again. To love a beast in any sort

In many a lecture, many a book, You all have heard, you all have r… That time is precious. Of its use Much has been written, much been s… The accomplishments which gladden…

Anger in its time and place May assume a kind of grace. It must have some reason in it, And not last beyond a minute. If to further lengths it go,

A child’s a plaything for an hour; Its pretty tricks we try For that or for a longer space; Then tire, and lay it by. But I knew one, that to itself

Alone, obscure, without a friend, A cheerless, solitary thing, Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger… What offering can the stranger bri… Of social scenes, home—bred deligh…

WHEN maidens such as Hester die Their place ye may not well supply… Though ye among a thousand try With vain endeavour. A month or more hath she been dead…

O why your good deeds with such pr… And why that self—satisfied smile At the shilling you gave to the po… That lifted you over the stile? 'Tis not much; all the bread that…

I saw where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature’s work. A flow’ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, Was in a cradle—coffin lying;

Well, they are gone, and here must… This lime—tree bower my prison! I… Beauties and feelings, such as wou… Most sweet to my remembrance even… Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness!…