The Granite Songster: Comprising the Songs of the Hutchinson Family, Without the Music

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A.B. Hutchinson, 1847 - 69 páginas
 

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Página 39 - Oh, men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creature's lives. Stitch, stitch, stitch, In poverty, hunger and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt. But why do I talk of death, That phantom of
Página 39 - I keep ; Oh ! God, that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap. Work, work, work, My labor never flags, And what are its wages ? a bed of straw, A crust of bread and rags.
Página 39 - brain begins to swim ; Work, work, work, 'Till the eyes are heavy and dim. Seam and gusset and band, Band and gusset and seam, 'Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream. Oh, men with
Página 40 - beneath my feet; For only one short hour. To feel as 1 used to feel Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal. Oh, but for one short hour, A respite however brief, No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief. A little weeping would ease my heart, But in their
Página 30 - above them seem to brighten as they pass, There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day. And I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of May. So, you must wake and call me early, call me early
Página 37 - THOMAS HOOD. One more unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death. Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young and so fair. Look at her garments, Clinging like cerements, Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly, Loving not loathing. Touch her not scornfully, Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the
Página 40 - While underneath the eaves, The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny back*, And twit me with the Spring. Oh, but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, With the sky above my head, And the
Página 10 - Beware the pine tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche !" This was the peasant's last good-night; A voice replied far up the height—EXCELSIOR ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the
Página 17 - The corn was springing fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on thy lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The day as bright as then,— The lark's loud song is in my ear, The place is little changed, Mary, And
Página 10 - A traveller by the faithful hound Half buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device—EXCELSIOR ! There, in the twilight cold and gray,

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