The School Board Readers: Standard III : Adapted to the Requirements of the New Code, 1871

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C. Griffin, 1872 - Arithmetic - 160 pages
 

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Page 105 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ! While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 88 - The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, were these. "The winds roared, and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn.
Page 56 - 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 57 - I am black, as if bereaved 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 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.
Page 57 - I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me.
Page 30 - I kept him for his humour's sake, For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts that made it ache, And force me to a smile. But now beneath...
Page 18 - And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head; And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And showers began to fall : John Barleycorn got up again.
Page 56 - 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 47 - COME to the sunset tree ! The day is past and gone ; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done. The twilight star to heaven, And the summer dew to flowers, And rest to us, is given By the cool soft evening hours. Sweet is the hour of rest ! Pleasant the wind's low sigh, And the gleaming of the west, And the turf whereon we lie. When the burden and the heat Of labor's task are o'er, And kindly voices greet The tired one at his door. Come to the sunset tree ! The day is past and gone...
Page 96 - O'er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray, All heart-broke, I heard her say: 'O my children! do they cry, Do they hear their father sigh? Now they look abroad to see, Now return and weep for me.

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