Identifier: completestoryofc00neil (find matches)
Title: Complete story of the Collinwood school disaster and how such horrors can be prevented
Year: 1908 (1900s)
Authors: (Neil, Henry), 1863- (from old catalog)
Subjects:
Publisher: Cleveland, Ohio, The N. G. Hamilton publishing co.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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get and the like be fall our own dear ones. 260 THE STORY OF THE FIRE OUR LITTLE BOY BLUE. The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket molds in his hands. Time was, when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair, And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. Now, don't you go till I come, he said, And don't you make any noise! So, toddling off to his trundle bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys. And as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue—Oh, the years are many, the years are long. But the little toy friends are true. Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue, they stand. Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting these long years through In the dust of that little chair. What has become of our Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them, and put them there. —Eugene Field.
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I wonder when he's coming 262 THE STORY OF THE FIRE THE LONG SILENCE By Edmund Vance Cooke. There are sorrowful words when the soldier falls From out of the firing line; There are fitting words when the Long Watch calls To the sailor out on the brine. But what are the words which a man may speak, Which are other than vainest breath. In silence of these—the little and weak— Who have played the game with Death. For Horror has hidden her eyes in fright, And Terror has stopped her ears. And Solace stands dumb at the ghastly sight, And her only words are tears. For what is the form which Pity may own In a pitiless hour like this, When these mothers are sitting alone—alone. With their babies they may not kiss. Oh, what to them is the sounding word. And what is the poets page? And what all the wisdom written and heard By prophet and priest and sage? They are dust and dross, they are straw and chaff; Can they lighten the sightless eye? Can they bring back one little lightsome laugh. Or one little

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