The shower of pearls, a collection of poetry, original and selected, for schools, by C. PhillipsSimpkin, Marshall and Company, 1855 - 155 Seiten |
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Seite 60
... I am dying- Nay , sister , do not weep . It is a joyful thing to die , For though this world is fair , I see a lovelier in my dreams , And I fancy I am there . I fancy I am taken there , As soon as 60 A Story of Heaven.
... I am dying- Nay , sister , do not weep . It is a joyful thing to die , For though this world is fair , I see a lovelier in my dreams , And I fancy I am there . I fancy I am taken there , As soon as 60 A Story of Heaven.
Seite 63
... weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows , And the fire - flies dance through the myrtle boughs ? " " Not there , not there , my child ! " " Is it where the feathery palm - trees rise , And the date grows ripe under ...
... weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows , And the fire - flies dance through the myrtle boughs ? " " Not there , not there , my child ! " " Is it where the feathery palm - trees rise , And the date grows ripe under ...
Seite 90
... weep , behold , I weep ! Alas ! my guilty pride and ire ! Were but this work undone , I would give England's crown , my sire , To hear thee bless thy son . " Speak to me : mighty grief Ere now thy dust hath stirred ; Hear me but hear me ...
... weep , behold , I weep ! Alas ! my guilty pride and ire ! Were but this work undone , I would give England's crown , my sire , To hear thee bless thy son . " Speak to me : mighty grief Ere now thy dust hath stirred ; Hear me but hear me ...
Seite 93
... weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? Our father's bled ! Earth render back from out thy breast , A remnant of our Spartan dead ; And of three hundred grant but three , To make a new Thermopyla ! What , silent still ! and ...
... weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? Our father's bled ! Earth render back from out thy breast , A remnant of our Spartan dead ; And of three hundred grant but three , To make a new Thermopyla ! What , silent still ! and ...
Seite 99
... Weeping , weeping , late and early , Walking up , and pacing down , Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh , Burleigh - house by Stamford - town : And he came to look upon her , And he K 2 99.
... Weeping , weeping , late and early , Walking up , and pacing down , Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh , Burleigh - house by Stamford - town : And he came to look upon her , And he K 2 99.
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The Shower of Pearls, a Collection of Poetry, Original and Selected, for ... Charlotte Phillips Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2015 |
The Shower of Pearls, a Collection of Poetry, Original and Selected, for ... Charlotte Phillips Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2018 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
angel ANON Asshur beautiful beneath bird bitter woe Hear bless bless'd breast breath bright brow cheek child at sea cry Lama Sabacthani dark dear death DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB doth E'en earth EDMESTON Excelsior fair fear flowers fragrant gentle glad song Go when thy green grief hand happy hast thou Hear spirit voices heart heaven Heaven's gate heavenly holy inly cry Lama inly know Seasons JANE TAYLOR land little children LONGFELLOW Lord love and dreams loves me best morning mother murmur ne'er night Overcome sense pain pass'd Pompey's Pillar pray prayer red planet Mars replied Romulus and Remus Samian wine Saviour Seasons of bitter shine Shylock silent sing skies smile snow song sorrow soul Speak gently spirit voices low spring Star of Bethlehem summer sweet tear tell tempest thee thine thou hast thought tree weep wind wings woe Hear spirit
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 83 - His hair is crisp and black and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow : You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school, Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge,...
Seite 112 - With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
Seite 92 - THE isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — • Where grew the arts of war and peace,— Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set...
Seite 126 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, ' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ?
Seite 145 - New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray ; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven. If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice.
Seite 93 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Seite 65 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Seite 45 - Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.
Seite 64 - Not there, not there, my child !" " Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange, bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?" '. Not there, not there, my child...
Seite 51 - The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled ; The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form.