. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . feet,The whinnying mare her master knows,When into the yard the farmer goes, His cattle calling— Co, boss! co, boss! co! co! co!While still the cow-boy, far away,Goes seeking those who have gone astray— Co, boss! co, boss! co! co 1 Now to her task the milkmaid goes ; The cattle come crowding through the gate, Lowing, pushing, little and great; About the trough, by the farm-yard pump, The frolicksomt; yearlings frisk and jump, While the jileasant dews are falling:The new milch heifer
. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . feet,The whinnying mare her master knows,When into the yard the farmer goes, His cattle calling— Co, boss! co, boss! co! co! co!While still the cow-boy, far away,Goes seeking those who have gone astray— Co, boss! co, boss! co! co 1 Now to her task the milkmaid goes ; The cattle come crowding through the gate, Lowing, pushing, little and great; About the trough, by the farm-yard pump, The frolicksomt; yearlings frisk and jump, While the jileasant dews are falling:The new milch heifer is quick and the old cow v/aits with tranquil eye-,And the white stream into the bright pail to her task the milkmaid goes, Soothingly — So, boss ! 80, boss ! so! so! so IThe cheerful milkmaid takes hor stool,And sits and milks in the twilight cool, Saying, So, so, boss! so, sol To supper at last tlie farmer goes :The appl(!S are pared, tlie paper is rea<l,The stories are told, then all to beil:Witliout, the crickets ceaseless rongMakes shrill the silence all night long;. CO K I—I ?- ^ .5 t. HOWS MY BOY? The heavy dews are falling :The housewifes hand has turned the lockDrowsily ticks the kitchen clock ;The household sinks to deep repose;But still in sleep the farm-boy goes Sft Singing, calling— Co, boss ! co, boss! co! co! co!And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams,Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, Murmuring, So, boss! so! / WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. E. MUHLENBERG. would not live alway ; I ask not to stayWhere storm after storm rises dark oer the way;The few lurid mornings that dawn on us hereAre enough for lifes joys, full enough for its cheer. I would not live alway ; no,—welcome the tomb ISince Jesus hath lain there, I dread not its gloom ;There sweet be my rest till he bid me arise,To hail him in triumph descending the skies. Who, who would live alway, away from hia God,—Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,Where rivers o
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectenglishliterature
