Armazindy, Volume 8

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Bowen-Merrill, 1894 - Autographs - 169 pages
 

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Page 163 - For this is Thanksgiving Day. Over the river and through the wood, And straight through the barnyard gate! We seem to go Extremely slow; It is so hard to wait!
Page 135 - Like a rose in bloom; All forebodings that distressed me I forgot as Joy caressed me — (LYING Joy! that caught and pressed me In the arms of doom!) Only spake the little lisper In the Angel-tongue; Yet I, listening, heard her whisper, — "Songs are only sung Here below that they may grieve you — Tales but told you to deceive you, — So must Leonainie leave you While her love is young.
Page 67 - And the smiles that greet him along the streets: Where the mother that left you years ago Will lift the hands that were folded so, And put them about you, with all the love And tenderness you are dreaming of. Out of the hitherwhere into the YON— Where all of the friends of your youth have...
Page 134 - In the solemn night. — In a solemn night of summer, When my heart of gloom Blossomed up to greet the comer Like a rose in bloom ; All forebodings that distressed me I forgot as Joy caressed me — (Lying Joy ! that caught and pressed me In the arms of doom!) Only spake the little lisper In the...
Page 149 - THE THREE JOLLY HUNTERS O THERE were three jolly hunters; And a-hunting they did go, With a spaniel-dog, and a pointer-dog, And a setter-dog also. Looky there! And they hunted and they hal-looed ; And the first thing they did find Was a dingling-dangling hornet's-nest A-swinging in the wind. Looky there ! And the first one said— "What is it?
Page 153 - Dip your foot in the rust, and put A print of it on the floor; And stew the fat of a brindle cat, And say this o'er and o'er: Corny, morny, blady, dead, Gory, sorey, rusty red, Footsy, putsy, floory stew, Fatsy, catsy, mew, mew. Come grease my corn In the gray
Page 134 - Leonainie, angels named her, and they took the light Of the laughing stars and framed her, in a smile of white, And they made her hair of gloomy midnight, and her eyes of bloomy Moonshine, and they brought her to me in a solemn night.
Page 63 - As, forward bent and listening, I hear the song I never sing. A murmuring of rhythmic words, Adrift on tunes whose currents flow Melodious with the trill of birds, And far-off lowing of the herds In lands of long ago; And every sound the truant loves Comes to me like the coo of doves When first in blooming fields of Spring I heard the song I never sing.
Page 76 - Woman's hopefulness and grace Of patience lighting up her face : And let her diadem be wrought Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, That ever over all distress May beam the light of cheerfulness. — And let her feet be brave to fare The labyrinths of doubt and care, That, following, my own may find The path to Heaven God designed. — О let her come like this to me — My bride — my bride that is to be. I GOT to thinkin...

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