Mother's Picture Alphabet, Page 43


For whom we all pray, with one heart and one tongue.

That her reign may he happy, and useful, and long.

Q begins Quarrel – one angry word,

And oh, what a host of had passions are stirred!

Quill, that papa can make into a pen,

And with it write letters to dear brother Ben.

Quince, a nice fruit, like a large yellow pear,

That grows on a tree now become very rare.

Quagga, an animal; Quail, a plump bird,

Whose cry in the springtime we sometimes have heard.

Quarry, a pit where they dig out the stone,

Just down by the hill-side, so barren and lone.

Question, the word of inquiry we ask,

When difficult subjects occur in our task.

Quiet, the silence mamma bids us keep,

While trying to hush the dear baby to sleep.

Quilt, the warm cover, so carefully spread,

By nurse’s kind hands, on my snug little bed.


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