ANTOINETTE INGLIS

Dear Children, all the little words These printed pages through, They are a flock of little birds I bring to sing to you. Sometimes they sing of foolish things, And other times they try To tell their gladness when their wings Soar up to seek the sky. So, Sweethearts, do but kindly hark! If but a sparrow throng, Or if among them there's a lark, To you their songs belong!