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Page 119 - My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love. I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills, My heart with rapture fills, Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all
Page 120 - air,. Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake. The wood is wiser far than thou ; The wood and wave each other know. Not unrelated, unaffied, But to each thought and thing allied, Is perfect Nature's every part, Rooted in the mighty Heart.
Page 119 - Sweet freedom's song. Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. -Our father's God to thee, -Author of liberty, To
Page 5 - are wearily sighing; Toll ye the church-bell, sad and slow, And tread softly, and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying! Old year, you must not die ; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die.
Page 120 - a taste for the cultivation of forest trees. It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages and plants for posterity. Nothing