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Page 12 - Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Page 44 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Page 116 - STILL sits the school-house by the road, A ragged beggar sunning ; Around it still the sumachs grow, And blackberry- vines are running. Within, the master's desk is seen, Deep scarred by raps official ; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jack-knife's carved initial ; The charcoal...
Page 10 - When Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then, from his mansion in the sun, She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand, The symbol of her chosen land.
Page 234 - IN a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern-leaf green and slender, Veining delicate and fibres tender ; Waving when the wind crept down so low. Rushes tall and moss and grass grew round it, Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it, But no foot of man e'er trod that way : Earth was young and keeping holiday.
Page 239 - Lord! hast power to save. I know thou wilt not slight my call, For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall; And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep.
Page 233 - I love but thee, With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!
Page 143 - Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek...
Page 117 - For near her stood the little boy Her childish favor singled, His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left, he lingered; As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered.