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Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two
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OUR PRESIDENT.
Charles H.L. Johnston.
Lullaby
Sleepy little, creepy little goblins in the gloaming,
With their airy little, fairy little faces all aglow,
Winking little, blinking little brownies gone a-roaming,
Hear the rustling little, bustling little footfalls as they go.
Laughing little, chaffing little voices sweetly singing
In the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies,
Creep! Creep! Creep!
Time to go to sleep!
Baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes!
Cricket in the thicket with the oddest little clatter
Sings his rattling little, prattling little, tattling little tune;
Fleet the feet of tiny stars go patter, patter, patter,
As they scamper from the heavens at the rising of the moon.
Beaming little, gleaming little fireflies go dreaming
To the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies.
Creep! Creep! Creep!
Time to go to sleep!
Baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes!
Quaking little, shaking little voices all a-quiver
In the mushy little, rushy little, weedy, reedy bogs,
Droning little, moaning little chorus by the river,
In the croaking little, joking little cadence of the frogs.
Eerie little, cheery little glowworms in the gloaming
Where the clover heads like fairy little nightcaps rise,
Creep! Creep! Creep!
Time to go to sleep!
Baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes!
J.W. Foley.
Chums
If we should be shipwrecked together
And only had water for one,
And it was the hottest of weather
Right out in the boiling sun,
He'd tell me—no matter how bad he
Might want it—to take a drink first;
And then he would smile—oh, so glad he
Had saved me!—and perish from thirst!
Or, if we were lost on the prairie
And only had food for a day,
He'd come and would give me the share he
Had wrapped up and hidden away;
And after I ate it with sadness
He'd smile with his very last breath,
And lay himself down full of gladness
To save me—and starve right to death.
And if I was wounded in battle
And out where great danger might be,
He'd come through the roar and the rattle
Of guns and of bullets to me,
He'd carry me out, full of glory,
No matter what trouble he had,
And then he would fall down, all gory
With wounds, and would die—but be glad!
We're chums—that's the reason he'd do it;
And that's what a chum ought to be.
And if it was fire he'd go through it,
If I should call him to me.
You see other fellows may know you,
And friends that you have go and come;
But a boy has one boy he can go to,
For help all the time—that's his chum.
J.W. Foley.
Jim Brady's Big Brother
Jim Brady's big brother's a wonderful lad,
And wonderful, wonderful muscles he had;
He swung by one arm from the limb of a tree
And hung there while Jim counted up forty-three
Just as slow as he could; and he leaped at a bound
Across a wide creek and lit square on the ground
Just as light as a deer; and the things he can do,
So Jimmy told us, you would hardly think true.
Jim Brady's big brother could throw a fly ball
From center to home just like nothing at all;
And often while playing a game he would stand
And take a high fly with just only one hand;
Jim Brady showed us where he knocked a home run
And won the big game when it stood three to one
Against the home team, and Jim Brady, he showed
The place where it lit in the old wagon road!
Jim Brady's big brother could bat up a fly
That you hardly could see, for it went up so high;
Charles H.L. Johnston.
Lullaby
Sleepy little, creepy little goblins in the gloaming,
With their airy little, fairy little faces all aglow,
Winking little, blinking little brownies gone a-roaming,
Hear the rustling little, bustling little footfalls as they go.
Laughing little, chaffing little voices sweetly singing
In the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies,
Creep! Creep! Creep!
Time to go to sleep!
Baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes!
Cricket in the thicket with the oddest little clatter
Sings his rattling little, prattling little, tattling little tune;
Fleet the feet of tiny stars go patter, patter, patter,
As they scamper from the heavens at the rising of the moon.
Beaming little, gleaming little fireflies go dreaming
To the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies.
Creep! Creep! Creep!
Time to go to sleep!
Baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes!
Quaking little, shaking little voices all a-quiver
In the mushy little, rushy little, weedy, reedy bogs,
Droning little, moaning little chorus by the river,
In the croaking little, joking little cadence of the frogs.
Eerie little, cheery little glowworms in the gloaming
Where the clover heads like fairy little nightcaps rise,
Creep! Creep! Creep!
Time to go to sleep!
Baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes!
J.W. Foley.
Chums
If we should be shipwrecked together
And only had water for one,
And it was the hottest of weather
Right out in the boiling sun,
He'd tell me—no matter how bad he
Might want it—to take a drink first;
And then he would smile—oh, so glad he
Had saved me!—and perish from thirst!
Or, if we were lost on the prairie
And only had food for a day,
He'd come and would give me the share he
Had wrapped up and hidden away;
And after I ate it with sadness
He'd smile with his very last breath,
And lay himself down full of gladness
To save me—and starve right to death.
And if I was wounded in battle
And out where great danger might be,
He'd come through the roar and the rattle
Of guns and of bullets to me,
He'd carry me out, full of glory,
No matter what trouble he had,
And then he would fall down, all gory
With wounds, and would die—but be glad!
We're chums—that's the reason he'd do it;
And that's what a chum ought to be.
And if it was fire he'd go through it,
If I should call him to me.
You see other fellows may know you,
And friends that you have go and come;
But a boy has one boy he can go to,
For help all the time—that's his chum.
J.W. Foley.
Jim Brady's Big Brother
Jim Brady's big brother's a wonderful lad,
And wonderful, wonderful muscles he had;
He swung by one arm from the limb of a tree
And hung there while Jim counted up forty-three
Just as slow as he could; and he leaped at a bound
Across a wide creek and lit square on the ground
Just as light as a deer; and the things he can do,
So Jimmy told us, you would hardly think true.
Jim Brady's big brother could throw a fly ball
From center to home just like nothing at all;
And often while playing a game he would stand
And take a high fly with just only one hand;
Jim Brady showed us where he knocked a home run
And won the big game when it stood three to one
Against the home team, and Jim Brady, he showed
The place where it lit in the old wagon road!
Jim Brady's big brother could bat up a fly
That you hardly could see, for it went up so high;
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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