ISBN: 1235731227

[EAN: 9781235731228], Neubuch, EMMA MARIE CAILLARD,SUBJECTS, This item is printed on demand. Paperback. This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can downloa… Plus…

[EAN: 9781235731228], Neubuch, EMMA MARIE CAILLARD,SUBJECTS, This item is printed on demand. Paperback. This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1889. Excerpt: . . . X STOLEN FLOWERS. A Ballad Of London. It is spring-time in the village, frost and snow have left their pillage Of the south, and fled back vanquished to the north; Far within the sunless regions to recruit their icy legions Ere the voice of Winter sternly bids them forth. Loudly now the cuckoo calleth, and the apple blossom falleth Pale and softly as the fragrant airs go by; The blithe sound of young lambs bleating, and the thrushes song your greeting As within the shady orchard plot you lie. Then the echo of child laughter follows other glad sounds after, For the village children all are out to play, Plucking May blooms from the hedges and long. daisies from the edges Of the field paths as they dance along their way. Spare not children in your pulling, other flowers will wait the culling When ye wash your morrows footsteps in the dew, For the brindled cow that passes loves the juicy meadow grasses, But the bluebells and the cowslips are for you. It is spring-time in the city!--Oh, ye men, behold the pity Of the scene where ye have marrd the works of God; Ah! not here the cuckoo calleth or sweet apple blossom falleth, Nor beseemeth it that childhood ever trod. For these wizend, witherd faces, peering out from noisome places Where ye scarcely dare to venture een your look, Are they those of lifes beginners Or of wayworn weary sinners, Whom the angel of their innocence forsook When their baby eyes unfastend on the cruel world that hastend Swift to trample out Gods image in their heart And, Alas! ye wise and holy, though ye strive your best, how slowly What He gave and men destroyd can ye impart. Here no sound of young lambs bleating, or of woodland song for greeting, But the fiendish laugh, the shout of rage, and worse, Loud unceasing foul mout. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN.<