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accompaniment admirable appearance artist audience Bach beautiful become Beethoven better called cause character chorus church close complete composer composition concert course effect English excellent execution expression fact feeling French friends gave German give given grand Hall hand hear heard heart interest Italian Italy known lady less light living London look manner March master means melody mind Miss Mozart musician nature never night notes once opera orchestra organ original Paris perfect performance perhaps persons piano piece played popular present produced remarkable rendered scene season seems singers singing Society song soprano sound stage style success sung Symphony theatre thing thought tion tone true vocal voice whole written young
81. oldal - And what is so rare as a day in June ? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might. An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
81. oldal - The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — In the nice ear of nature which song is the best...
37. oldal - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream: 'Tis the star-spangled banner ! Oh ! long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave...
37. oldal - Oh ! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming...
134. oldal - FROM all that dwell below the skies. Let the Creator's praise arise; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2 Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word: Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
148. oldal - And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, and with a loud voice glorified God, and fell down on his face at his feet, giving him thanks ; and he was a Samaritan. And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger.
97. oldal - Whose part in all the pomp that fills The circuit of the summer hills, Is — that his grave is green ! And deeply would their hearts rejoice To hear again his living voice.
81. oldal - Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green. We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell, We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing.
209. oldal - And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer. Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, Which God hath planned ; To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply ; Its choir the winds and waves — its organ thunder — Its dome the sky.
113. oldal - Aye. let them rail — those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride, What virtues with thy children bide ; How true, how good, thy graceful maids Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen.