There was a giant by the Orchard… Peeping about on this side and on… And feeling in the trees: he was a… As the big apple tree, and twice a… His beard was long, and bristly-bl…

Come from your bed my drowsy gentl… And you, fair lady, rise and braid… And let the children wash, if wash… If not, assist you them, and make… As is the morning and the morning…

I saw God. Do you doubt it? Do you dare to doubt it? I saw the Almighty Man. His hand Was resting on a mountain, and He looked upon the World and all…

A little girl and a big ugly man Went down the road. The girl was… And asking to go home, but when sh… He hit her on the head and sent he… And called her a young imp, and sa…

The leaves are fresh after the rai… The air is cool and clear, The sun is shining warm again, The sparrows hopping in the lane Are brisk and full of cheer.

In the winter time we go Walking in the fields of snow; Where there is no grass at all; Where the top of every wall, Every fence, and every tree,

THE lanky hank of a she in the in… Nearly killed me for asking the lo… May the devil grip the whey-faced… And beat bad manners out of her sk… That parboiled imp, with the harde…

The sun is always in the sky Whenever I get out of bed, And I often wonder why It’s never late.—My sister said She did not know who did the trick…

I heard a bird at dawn Singing sweetly on a tree, That the dew was on the lawn, And the wind was on the lea; But I didn’t listen to him,

An old man sat beneath a tree Alone; So still was he That, if he had been carved in sto… He could not be

I saw the Devil walking down the… Behind our house., There was a he… Strapped tightly on his shoulders,… Sizzled when it hit him. He pi… Up from the ground and put it in h…

I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare: Now I hear the cry again, But I cannot tell from where. But I cannot tell from where

It was night time! God, the Fathe… Weary of praises, on a sudden stoo… From His great Throne, and leaned… For He had heard a sound; a littl… Thin as a whisper, climbing up the…

Every Sunday there’s a throng Of pretty girls, who trot along In a pious, breathless state (They are nearly always late) To the Chapel, where they pray