Anna was always full of thought, 466. 
As busy Aurelia, ’twixt work and ’twixt play, 454. 
Brothers and sisters I have many, 451. 
But a few words could William say, 432. 
Can I, all gracious Providence, 488. 
Come my little Robert near, 417. 
David and his three captains bold, 486.
Dear Sir, Dear Madam, or Dear Friend, 436. 
Did I hear the church-clock a few minutes ago, 470. 
Do, my dearest brother John, 406. 
For gold could Memory be bought, 431. 
Henry was every morning fed, 413. 
High on a Throne of state is seen, 390. 
Horatio, of ideal courage vain, 424. 
I am to write three lines, and you, 429. 
I have got a new-born sister, 408. 
I have taught your young lips the good words to say over, 442. 
I keep it, dear Papa, within my glove, 468. 
I saw a boy with eager eye, 455. 
I’ll make believe, and fancy something strange, 430. 
If you go to the field where the Reapers now bind, 404. 
In a stage-coach, where late I chanc’d to be, 429. 
In days of yore, as Ancient Stories tell, 490. 
In many a lecture, many a book, 475. 
In whatsoever place resides, 460. 
In your garb and outward clothing, 412. 
Incorrectness in your speech, 462. 
It is not always to the strong, 483. 
Joy to Philip, he this day, 419. 
Lately an Equipage I overtook, 405. 
Lucy, what do you espy, 467. 
Mamma gave us a single Peach, 407. 
Mamma heard me with scorn and pride, 432. 
Mamma is displeased and look very grave, 411. 
Miss Lydia every day is drest, 410. 
My father’s grandfather lives still, 478. 
My neat and pretty book, when I thy small lines see, 430. 
My parents sleep both in one grave, 418. 
O hush, my little baby brother, 420. 
O what a joyous joyous day, 434. 
O why your good deeds with such pride do you scan, 462. 
On a bank with roses shaded, 480. 
Once on a time, Love, Death, and Reputation, 449. 
One Sunday eve a grave old man, 421. 
Our Governess is not in school, 422. 
Said Ann to Matilda, I wish that we knew, 476. 
Shut these odious books up, brother, 456. 
Sister, fie, for shame, no more, 457. 
Smiling river, smiling river, 416. 
Tell me what is the reason you hang down your head, 416. 
Tell me, would you rather be, 456. 
The drunkard’s sin, excess in wine, 460. 
The month was June, the day was hot, 435. 
The motes up and down in the sun, 413. 
The Swallow is a summer bird, 488. 
The wall-trees are laden with fruit, 427. 
There, Robert, you have kill’d that fly, 466. 
This Picture does the story express, 481. 
This rose-tree is not made to bear, 404. 
Three young maids in friendship met, 437. 
Through the house what busy joy, 415. 
To Jesus our Saviour some parents presented, 443. 
To operas and balls my cousins take me, 471. 
Unto a Yorkshire school was sent, 476. 
When beasts by words their meanings could declare,