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A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book Three by  Ada M. Skinner and Frances Gillespy Wickes

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A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book Three
by Ada Skinner
Third volume of A Child's Own Book of Verse, a three-volume set planned for use during the four primary years. This unusually fine collection of poetry was selected with the child's interests in mind. Includes sound rhymes and jingles to appeal to the ear, descriptive poems to create images in the mind's eye, lullabies and lyrics to warm the heart, and story-telling poems to stir the imagination. Attractively illustrated by Maud and Miska Petersham.  Ages 7-10
130 pages $8.95   

 

 

NATHAN HALE

[122]

To drum-beat and heart-beat,

A soldier marches by;

There is color in his cheek,

There is courage in his eye,

Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat

In a moment he must die.


By starlight and moonlight,

He seeks the Briton's camp;

He hears the rustling flag,

And the armed sentry's tramp;

And the starlight and moonlight

His silent wanderings lamp.


With slow tread and still tread,

He scans the tented line;

And he counts the battery guns

By the gaunt and shadowy pine;

And his slow tread and still tread

Gives no warning sign.


The dark wave, the plumed wave,

It meets his eager glance;

And it sparkles 'neath the stars,

Like the glimmer of a lance—

A dark wave, a plumed wave,

On an emerald expanse.


[123]

A sharp clang, a steel clang,

And terror in the sound!

For the sentry, falcon-eyed,

In the camp, a spy hath found;

With a sharp clang, a steel clang,

The patriot is bound.


With calm brow, steady brow,

He listens to his doom;

In his look there is no fear,

Nor a shadow-trace of gloom;

But with calm brow and steady brow

He robes him for the tomb.


In the long night, the still night,

He kneels upon the sod;

And the brutal guards withhold

E'en the solemn Word of God!

In the long night, the still night,

He walks where Christ hath trod.


'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn,

He dies upon the tree;

And he mourns that he can lose

But one life for Liberty;

And in the blue morn, the sunny morn,

His spirit-wings are free.


[124]

But his last words, his message words,

They burn, lest friendly eye

Should read how proud and calm

A patriot could die,

With his last words, his dying words,

A soldier's battle-cry.


From the Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf

From monument and urn,

The sad of earth, the glad of heaven,

His tragic fate shall learn;

And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf

The name of Hale  shall burn.

—FRANCIS MILES FINCH.


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