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Page 70 - They helped every one his neighbour; And every one said to his brother, Be of good courage. So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, And he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, Saying, It is ready for the sodering: And he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
Page 282 - Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
Page 175 - He's singing to me! He's singing to me! And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be!
Page 263 - By promise I was to have Breakfasted at Mr. Ellsworth's at Windsor, on my way to Springfield, but the morning proving very wet, and the rain not ceasing till past 10 o'clock, I did not set out till half after that hour; I called, however, on Mr. Ellsworth and stay'd there near an hour — reached Springfield by 4 o'clock, and while dinner was getting, examined the Continental Stores at this place.
Page 263 - Having dined, we set out with the same Escort (who conducted us into town) about 3 o'clock for Hartford, and passing through a Parish of Middletown and Weathersfield, we arrived at Harfd. about sundown. At Weathersfield we were met by a party of the Hartford light horse, and a number of Gentlemen from the same place with Col° [Jeremiah] Wadsworth at their head, and escorted to Bull's Tavern where we lodged.
Page 292 - Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, — Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore.
Page 277 - What wth ye way we hated em & ye goode money yt was offered for theyre Heads we do not heare em now so much, but when I do I feel again ye younge hatred rising in my Bloode, & it is not a Sin because God mayde em to be hated.