The Excelsior poetry book for the young, selected and ed. by Vita |
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... hear the angel voices , That have thrilled me long ago— Voices of my lost companions , Lying deep beneath the snow . - Dean Alford . Where are now the flowers we tended ? Withered , broken , branch and stem . Where are now the hopes we ...
... hear the angel voices , That have thrilled me long ago— Voices of my lost companions , Lying deep beneath the snow . - Dean Alford . Where are now the flowers we tended ? Withered , broken , branch and stem . Where are now the hopes we ...
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... hear them in the flowing rill . One chorus hails the Great Supreme , Each varied breathing tells the same ; The strains may differ , but the theme Is , " Father , hallowed be Thy name . " -Eliza Cook . THE GIPSY CHILD . HE sprang to ...
... hear them in the flowing rill . One chorus hails the Great Supreme , Each varied breathing tells the same ; The strains may differ , but the theme Is , " Father , hallowed be Thy name . " -Eliza Cook . THE GIPSY CHILD . HE sprang to ...
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... hear The old church ding - dong , soft and clear ; The welcome sounds are doubly blest With future hope and earthly rest . Yet were no calling changes found To spread their cheering echoes round , There's not a place where man may dwell ...
... hear The old church ding - dong , soft and clear ; The welcome sounds are doubly blest With future hope and earthly rest . Yet were no calling changes found To spread their cheering echoes round , There's not a place where man may dwell ...
Página 61
... hear a helpless orphan's tale ; Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake , - ' Tis want that makes my cheek so pale . Yet I was once a mother's pride , And my brave father's hope and joy ; But in the Nile's proud fight he died , And I am now ...
... hear a helpless orphan's tale ; Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake , - ' Tis want that makes my cheek so pale . Yet I was once a mother's pride , And my brave father's hope and joy ; But in the Nile's proud fight he died , And I am now ...
Página 66
... , scorned and poor , He begged his bread from door to door , And tuned , to please a peasant's ear , The harp a king had loved to hear . -Sir W. Scott . ! THE HAPPY MAN . THE HAPPY MAN . How. 66 EXCELSIOR POETRY BOOK . Sir W Scott.
... , scorned and poor , He begged his bread from door to door , And tuned , to please a peasant's ear , The harp a king had loved to hear . -Sir W. Scott . ! THE HAPPY MAN . THE HAPPY MAN . How. 66 EXCELSIOR POETRY BOOK . Sir W Scott.
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The Excelsior Poetry Book for the Young, Selected and Ed. by Vita Excelsior Poetry Book Pré-visualização indisponível - 2015 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
angels beauty bell beneath Bernard Barton bird bless blest brave breast breath bright Bring flowers brooklets brow calm cheer child chimes clouds crown dark death deep demon band dost doth dreams earth Ebenezer Elliot Eliza Cook England fair Farewell father forest Gelert Gerald Massey glorious glory glow God's golden grace grave green hallowed happy hast hath hear heart heaven helmet of Navarre Horned Owl hour Inchcape Inchcape Rock ivy green king land lark life's light lonely look Lord MIRIAM'S SONG morning mother mountain native never night o'er ocean old arm-chair orphan boy peace pride rest rose Rule Britannia Sabbath shine shore sigh silent sing skies sleep smiled soft song sorrow soul sound spirit STAFFA stars sunset tree sweet tears thee There's thine Thomas Pringle thou art voice wandering waves weary weep wild wind wings
Passagens conhecidas
Página 115 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Página 122 - gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow; And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Página 47 - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.
Página 15 - 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 ! T remember.
Página 208 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Página 49 - THE SEA. The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round ; It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; Or like a cradled creature lies.
Página 84 - O ! th' exceeding grace Of highest God that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed Angels He sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.
Página 185 - Far beyond the stars, Where stands a winged sentry All skilful in the wars; There above noise, and danger Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles, And one born in a manger Commands the beauteous files; He is thy gracious friend, And (O, my Soul, awake!) Did in pure love descend To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of peace, The rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress, and thy ease; Leave then thy foolish ranges, For none can thee secure, But one, who never changes,...
Página 208 - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Página 16 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky : It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy.