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Anti-Slavery beauty Bible billet read blessed breath brother Caleb Cushing Capernaum Caroline Caroline cross chattel slavery child Christian church clergy cloud cloud sulphurous common countenance dear death Dismal Swamp divine dreadful dream earth face faith father fear feel flowers gallows gibbet hand hanging happy head heart heaven Henry Clapp Herald of Freedom holy Hopedale human intemperance Jack Ketch Jesus Christ labor light live look Mary medal mind moral morning mother nature never night noble o'er old oaken bucket peace poor praise prayer priest priesthood principles reform religion round seems sister slave slavery smile society solemn Somersworth song sorrow and woe soul speak spirit stars suck songs sweet tears thee thine thing thou thought truth unto voice Washingtonian Washingtonian movement words Work—work—work young
Page 163 - The eye — it cannot choose but see; We cannot bid the ear be still; Our bodies feel, where'er they be, Against or with our will. 'Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Page 133 - For us, the winds do blow, The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow; Nothing we see, but means our good. As our delight, or as our treasure; The whole is either our cupboard of food, Or cabinet of pleasure.
Page 41 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 73 - I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home, in his nest, at even; He sings the song, but it cheers not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky; He sang to my ear, they sang to my eye.
Page 12 - How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view...
Page 73 - The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs; I inhaled the violet's breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs; Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky. Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
Page 164 - tis a dull and endless strife : Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music ! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.
Page 156 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !