The Token and Atlantic Souvenir: A Christmas and New Year's Present

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Samuel Griswold Goodrich
Otis, Broaders, 1840 - Aging - 304 pages
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Page 193 - And they shall destroy the walls of Tyrus, and break down her towers: I will also scrape her dust from her, and make her like the top of a rock. It shall be a place for the spreading of nets in the midst of the sea: for I have spoken it, saith the Lord God: and it shall become a spoil to the nations.
Page 175 - Through its bright sapphire window, shows the mind ? When in the trembling of the tear or sigh Floats forth that essence, trembling and refined? Saw ye not Him, — the Author of our trust, Who breathed the breath of life into a frame of dust...
Page 176 - Swelled out in tones of praise, announcing God was there ? Show us the Father .' If ye fail to trace His chariot where the stars majestic roll, His pencil mid earth's loveliness and grace, His presence in the sabbath of the soul, How can...
Page 176 - Him, when your voiceless prayer Swelled out in tones of praise, announcing God was there ? • Show us the Father! If ye fail to trace His chariot...
Page 175 - HAVE ye not seen Him, when through parted snows Wake the first kindlings of the vernal green ? When 'neath its modest veil the arbutus blows, And the pure snow-drop bursts its folded screen...
Page 193 - And they shall make a spoil of thy riches, and make a prey of thy merchandise: and they shall break down thy walls, and destroy thy pleasant houses: and they shall lay thy stones and thy timber and thy dust in the midst of the water. And I will cause the noise of thy songs to cease ; and the sound of thy harps shall be no more heard.
Page 124 - Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children will burn.
Page 30 - With their heavy honey-cups bending low, As a heart, which vague, sweet thoughts oppress, Droops 'neath its burden of happiness. There the waters drip from their...
Page 176 - When vexing cares in tranquil slumber rest, When in the heart the holy thought is born, And Heaven's high impulse warms the waiting breast, Have ye not felt Him...
Page 23 - Pour lui raconter sous la terre Sa vieille gloire de quinze ans , II n'a qu'un arbre solitaire , Le dernier de ses courtisans. De tant de guirlandes de fête Qu'un monde jeta sur sa tête Que lui reste-t-il aujourd'hui?

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