Heart Throbs, in Prose and Verse Dear to the American People ...

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Joe Mitchell Chapple
Chapple publishing Company, Limited, 1911
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Página 428 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, — Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Página 312 - Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Página 393 - But there is no peace! The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me — give me liberty, or give me death!
Página 187 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread : Stitch!
Página 119 - To you, in David's town, this day Is born, of David's line, The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ; And this shall be the sign : — 4 " The heavenly babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapped in swathing bands, And in a manger laid.
Página 392 - The war is inevitable; and let it come!! I repeat it, sir, let it come!!! " It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace; but there is no peace.
Página 239 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn : He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away.
Página 391 - Mr President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty?
Página 31 - I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
Página 312 - Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight ! From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon!

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