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Updated: June 11, 2025
They are not connected with each other, but tell of all manner of things. Herrick was a religious poet too, and here is something that he wrote for children in his Noble Numbers. It is called To his Saviour, a Child: A Present by a Child. "Go, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known.
For many years Victoria had chosen her own companions; when the custom had begun, her mother had made a protest which Mr. Flint had answered with a laugh; he thought Victoria's judgment better than his wife's. Ever since that time the Rose of Sharon had taken the attitude of having washed her hands of responsibility for a course which must inevitably lead to ruin.
He had secured the animal at the high reserved price of twelve thousand francs being four hundred and eighty pounds in English money; and he had paid with an English bank-note. Sharon had ascertained his address, and had written to him at Brussels, inclosing the number of the lost banknote.
To communicate this explanation to Lady Lydiard would, in her present humor, be simply to produce the dismissal of the steward from her service. The only other alternative was to ask leave to interrogate Moody privately, and, after duly reproving him, to insist on the departure of Old Sharon as the one condition on which Mr. Troy would consent to keep Lady Lydiard in ignorance of the truth.
Whenever you wish, you can see Sharon and what it has come to as I saw it when, as a visitor without local prejudices, they asked me to serve with the telegraph-operator and the ticket-agent and the hotel-manager on the literary committee of judges at the school festival.
Old Sharon doubled his dirty fists and drummed with them on the rickety table in a comical frenzy of impatience while Mr. Troy was speaking. "What the devil do you know about my way of doing my business?" he burst out when the lawyer had done. Look here! Your young lady goes out for a walk, and she meets with a dirty, shabby old beggar I look like a shabby old beggar already, don't I? Very good.
What followed was confused, indistinct, but over and over again he heard: ... the Rose of Sharon, ... a bottle of Cyprus wine! until that, too, was lost in the distance. When he reached his room, he did not light the lamp, but crossed to the window and stood looking out into the darkness.
Marrapit, writhing in the bitterness of crushed hope as each cat was held towards him. "Dolt and pumpkin-head! How could that wretched creature be my Rose?" How, indeed, when at that moment the Rose of Sharon in the ruined hut was lapping milk taken her by George in a lemonade bottle, her infamous captor smoking on the threshold? Precisely at three o'clock Mr. David Brunger arrived.
One sunny morning, while Wilbur on River Street weighed the possible attractions of the livery-stable office against the immediate certainty of some pleasant hours with Rufus Paulding, off to the depot to get a load of express packages for people, Sharon in his sagging buggy pulled up to the curb before him and told him to jump in if he wanted a ride. So he had jumped in without further debate.
"We shall be so glad to," replied the Merle twin, glancing a bright farewell to the group. The other twin was unable to glance intelligently at any one. His eyes were now glazed. He stumbled against his well-mannered brother and heavily descended the steps. "You earned your money!" called Sharon Whipple.
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