A Gift for My Young Friends (Google eBook)

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Leavitt & Allen, 1854 - Children's poetry - 260 pages
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Contains prose and poetry, natural history, fables, epigrams and conduct of life suggestions.
  

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Page 181 - ... may profit by their example. If this be treason, make the most of it.
Page 181 - Caesar had his Brutus Charles the First, his Cromwell and George the Third'* (' Treason,' cried the speaker ' Treason, treason !' echoed from every part of the house.
Page 176 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! T remember.
Page 26 - But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide, The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; The hum of bees ; the linnet's lay of love ; And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Page 235 - Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions soar, Wait the great teacher, Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast : Man never Is, but always to be blest ; The soul, uneasy, and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Page 29 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Page 224 - I last took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew ; And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And...
Page 85 - On thy fair bosom, silver lake, The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break, As down he bears before the gale. On thy fair bosom, waveless stream, The dipping paddle echoes far, And flashes in the moonlight gleam, And bright reflects the polar star.
Page 104 - Traveller, in the stranger's land, Far from thine own household band; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone ; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell; Sailor, on the darkening sea ! Lift the heart and bend the knee...
Page 35 - And what are we That hear the question of that voice sublime? Oh, what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet by thy thundering side ? Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life to thy unceasing roar ? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to HIM Who drowned the world and heaped the waters far Above its loftiest mountains ? a light wave That breaks and whispers of its Maker's might.

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