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    <strong>WE ARE SEVEN.</strong>

    A simple child, dear brother Jim,

    Th>99lib?</a>at lightly draws its breath,

    And feels its life in every limb,

    What should it know of death?

    I met a little cottage girl,

    She was eight years old, <q>99lib?</q>she said;

    Her hair was thick with many a curl

    That clusterd round her head.

    She had a rustic, woodland air,

    And she was wildly clad;

    Her eyes were fair, and very fair,

    --Her beauty made me glad.

    &quot;Sisters and brothers, little maid,

    &quot;How many may you be?&quot;

    &quot;How many? seven in all,&quot; she said,

    And w looked at me.

    &quot;And where are they, I pray you tell?&quot;

    She answered, &quot;Seven are we,

    &quot;And two of us at way dwell,

    &quot;And twoo sea.

    &quot;Two of us in the church-yard lie,

    &quot;My sister and my brother,

    &quot;And in the church-yard cottage, I

    &quot;Dwell hem with my mother.&quot;

    &quot;You say that two at way dwel<bdi></bdi>l,

    &quot;And twoo sea,

    &quot;Yet you are seven; I pray you tell

    &quot;Sw<big></big>eet Maid, how this may be?&quot;

    Then did the litt<var></var>le Maid reply,

    &quot;Seven boys and girls are we;

    &quot;Two of us in the church-yard lie,

    &quot;Beh the church-yard tree.&quot;

    &quot;You run about, my little maid,

    &quot;Your limbs they are alive;

    &quot;If two are in the church-yard laid,

    &quot;Then ye are only ?ve.&quot;

    &quot;Their graves are green, they may be seen,&quot;

    The little Maid replied,

    &quot;Twelve steps or more from my mothers door,

    &quot;And they are side by side.

    &quot;My stogs there I often knit,

    &quot;My kerchief there I hem;

    &quot;And there upon the ground I sit--

    &quot;I sit and sing to them.

    &quot;And often after su, Sir,

    &quot;When it is light and fair,

    &quot;I take my little per,

    &quot;A my supper there.

    &quot;The ?rst that died was little Jane;

    &quot;In bed she moaning lay,

    &quot;Till God released her of her pain,

    &quot;And then she went away.

    &quot;So in the church-yard she was laid,

    &quot;And all the summer dry,

    &quot;Together round her grave we played,

    &quot;My brother John and I.

    &quot;And when the ground was white with snow,

    &quot;And I could run and slide,

    &quot;My brother John was forced to go,

    &quot;And he lies by her side.&quot;

    &quot;How many are you then,&quot; said I,

    &quot;If they two are in Heaven?&quot;

    The little Maiden did reply,

    &quot;O Master! we are seven.&quot;

    &quot;But they are dead; those two are dead!

    &quot;Their spirits are in heaven!&quot;

    Twas throwing words away; for still

    The little Maid would have her will,

    And said, &quot;Nay, we are seven!&quot;

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