A History of the Town of Dunstable, Massachusetts, Form Its Earliest Settlement to the Year of Our Lord 1873 (Google eBook)

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A. Mudge & son, printers, 1877 - Dunstable (Mass. : Town) - 316 pages
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Page 60 - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made!
Page 246 - There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in the ground, " The Soul, of origin divine, GOD'S glorious image, freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day. " The SUN is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The SOUL, immortal as its Sire, SHALL NEVER DIE.
Page 259 - Yet again we hope to meet thee, When the day of life is fled ; Then in heaven with joy to greet thee, Where no farewell tear is shed.
Page 266 - TIME is winging us away To our eternal home ; Life is but a winter's day A journey to the tomb ; Youth and vigor soon will flee, Blooming beauty lose its charms; All that's mortal soon shall be Enclosed in death's cold arms.
Page 237 - Friends nor physicians could not save My mortal body from the grave, Nor can the grave confine me here When Christ shall call me to appear.
Page 255 - And thus shall Faith's consoling power, The tears of love restrain ; Oh! who that saw thy parting hour, Could wish thee here again!
Page 52 - The Indians lie in ambush, in some place nigh at hand, In order to surround us upon this neck of land ; Therefore we'll march in order, and each man leave his pack That we may briskly fight them, when they make their attack.
Page 236 - As you are now, so once was I. As I am now so you must be. Prepare for death and follow me.
Page 244 - Why inconsolable, as those To whom no hope is given ? Death is the messenger of peace, And calls the soul to heaven.
Page 228 - These ashes, too, this little dust Our Father's care shall keep, Till the last angel rise and break The long and dreary sleep.

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