File:Image from page 107 of "Blood for blood; a legend of the "big elm tree,"" (1906).jpg

English: Identifier: bloodforbloodleg00ball

Title: Blood for blood; a legend of the "big elm tree," Year: 1906 (1900s) Authors: Ballard, Granville Mellen Subjects: Publisher: Indianapolis, The Hollenbeck press Contributing Library: The Library of Congress Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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Text Appearing Before Image: 98 LINES RECITED IN CONCERT BY A CLASS OF BLIND CHIL-DREN AT THE ROBERTS PARK CHURCH Sweet flowers we bring As our glad offering. Our eyes do not behold The lilies of the field, but He who rolled The earth from off His palm And whispered to the storm, and it was calm— Who spoke those matchless words : Let there be Hght, Can say to each of us: Receive thy sight. In heaven, with undimmed eye, we shall behold The King in all His beauty; and, as gifts of gold Were brought unto barbaric kings of old, So would we bring An offering to our heavenly King, In token of the gratitude that swells Our hearts; and with our offering may there be The fruits of virtue, that we each may see In the paradise of God that living tree Whose flowers are immortelles. 99

Text Appearing After Image: IOO OPTIMISTIC Sing, Shepherd Boy, sing—tis morning, and May;Thy singing will keep the bold wolf at bay,And he will not steal thy lambs away, And thy sweet task be over.O Farmer Boy, whistle an idle tune—The morning dews will vanish ere noon,And the reaper will come with sickle soon,And summer will hang its harvest moon Above the fields of clover. Nut-brown Maiden with flowing hair,Sing, without envy of those more fair;Do not burden lifes morning with care— The leaves are not yet falling.Sing, and be glad, at the spinning wheel—Sing, and a life of joy unreel—Sing, while sunshine covers the plainAnd shadows hide—but do not complain—Therell come a day when some lonesome swain For a helpmate will be calling. IOI Sing in thy castle, O Lady fair, White is thy brow and black is thy hair— Sing loves ditty and never despair, Some one will hear thy strain.Under thy lattice-barred window a knightEven now hears thy song with delight;Only the jasmine screens him from sight— O si

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