The Scrap-book: It Being a Thousand Gems of Prose and Poetry

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W. L. Allison, 1899 - 360 páginas

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Página 318 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than heav'n pursue.
Página 39 - The tumult and the shouting dies ; The captains and the kings depart : Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget!
Página 39 - If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law — Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest wo forget — lest we forget!
Página 178 - I hail as a treasure; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing! And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness it rose from the well; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well.
Página 319 - Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Página 291 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Página 215 - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Página 215 - Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Página 172 - WHEN I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
Página 183 - Except for love's sake only. Do not say " I love her for her smile — her look — her way Of speaking gently, — for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day " — For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee, — and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, — A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love...

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