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Page 247 - Let me live in a house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by — They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish — so am I.
Page 282 - True worth is in being, not seeming; In doing each day that goes by. Some little good — not in dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness. And spite of the fancies of youth. There's nothing so kingly as kindness. And nothing so royal as truth.
Page 247 - Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever One grand, sweet song.
Page 320 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
Page 282 - God be thanked for books. They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages. Books are the true levellers. They give to all, who will faithfully use them, the society, the spiritual presence of the best and greatest of our race.
Page 282 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Page 139 - Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you : What is it we can do for you ? Speak out before you die. His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack ! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There 'sa new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door.
Page 282 - My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd, content ; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.
Page 282 - We get back our mete as we measure — We cannot do wrong and feel right, Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure, For justice avenges each slight.