By Ann Taylor.
Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And fondly taught me how to play,
And minded all I had to say?
Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God’s holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
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The Letter Edged in Black
I was standing by my window yesterday morning,
Without a tho’t of soorow or of care;
When I saw the postman coming up the pathway,
With such a smiling face and jolly air.
He rang the bell, then whistled as he waited,
And then he said “good morning to you, Jack”
But he little knew the sorrow that he bro’t me,
When he handed me the letter edged in black.
With trembling hands I took the letter from him,
I opened it and this is what it said:
“Come home, my boy, your dear old daddy needs you,
Come home, my boy, your dear old mother’s dead.”
The last words that your mother ever uttered,
Were “Tell my boy I want him to come back;
My eyes are blurred, my poor old heart is breaking,
As I’m writing you this letter edged in black.”
Thos angry words I wish I’d never spoken,
You know I didn’t mean them, don’t you Jack;
May the angels bear me witness, I am asking
Your forgiveness in this letter edged in black.”
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Jesus loves me, this I know . . .