Texas School Journal, Volume 21

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Texas Educational Journal Publishing Company, 1903 - Schools
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Page 953 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
Page 807 - Into the burning lake their baleful streams ; Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate ; Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep ; Cocytus, named of lamentation loud Heard on the rueful stream ; fierce Phlegethon, Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.
Page 1040 - OF man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse...
Page 969 - If this call is neglected. I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor and that of his country. VICTORY OR DEATH.
Page 937 - The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share, ! For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.
Page 807 - Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. Far off from these a slow and silent stream, Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks, Forthwith his former state and being forgets, Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.
Page 954 - tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side Let Freedom ring.
Page 969 - The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken.
Page 937 - Lo, it is I, be not afraid In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; This crust is my body broken for thee; This water his blood that died on the tree; The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need...
Page 807 - O, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars...

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