FOR MEMORIZING

FIRST GRADE.

SWEET AND LOW.

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon;

Sleep, my little one, sleep my pretty one, sleep.

-Alfred Tennyson.

For Memorizing

THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat;

They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the moon above,
And sang to a small guitar,

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love!
What a beautiful Pussy you are,-
You are,

What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How wonderful sweet you sing!

Oh let us be married,- too long we have tarried,-
But what shall we do for a ring?"

They sailed away for a year and a day

To the land where the Bong-tree grows,

And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood
With a ring in the end of his nose,-
His nose,

With a ring in the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the piggy, “I will.”

So they took it away, and were married next day
By the turkey who lives on the hill.

For Memorizing

They dined upon mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon,
And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon,-
The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

-Edward Lear.

THE CLOUD.

What are you doing, little white cloud,
Up in the heavens, sailing so proud?

Helping my brothers here in the blue
Hide the hot sunshine, baby, from you.

Where are you going, flying so slow,
White cloud so lazy, I'd like to know?

Gathering raindrops out of the air,
For the poor flowers, dying down there.

When will you scatter some of the showers,
You have been saving, down to the flowers?

Where the Lord sends me, always I roam,
When the Lord bids me, baby, I'll come.

-Author not known.