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asked beautiful Becky began beginning bells better Bruges called Christmas coming cried dance dark door earth entered everything eyes face father feel flower followed friends Frome's garden give gone Grash grew growing hand head hear heard heart Jacob John keep King knew land leave light listened Little Boy Little Girl live looked Lord mind morning mother moved neighbor never night once passed Peter Philip picture played poor Princess rest Rose Rosella round sang seemed seen side sing snow song soul sound stand stars stood stopped story street sure talk tell things thought told took town trees turned voice walk watching window wish wonderful young ور
Page 15 - I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me.
Page 20 - Thames waters flow. O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
Page 15 - And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And, pointing to the East, began to say: 'Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat away, And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 'And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
Page 159 - And the angel said unto them, Fear not ; for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
Page 69 - Some stupid, dogged, engrossing clerk, probably," exclaimed myself, or some other giddy youth in our society. " No, boys," said our host, " I well know what hand it is — 'tis Walter Scott's.
Page 14 - My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white. White as an angel is the English child: But I am black as if bereav'd of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And pointing to the east began to say, Look on the rising sun: there God...
Page 39 - IN the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended, Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times, And changing like a poet's rhymes, Rang the beautiful wild chimes From the Belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges.
Page 13 - When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry
Page 16 - I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee ! Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Page 14 - And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And, pointing to the east, began to say: "Look on the rising sun — there God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noon day.