Monthly Literary Miscellany, Volym 4–5Beecher & Quinby, 1851 |
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appear beauty become bless body bring called cause character Christian comes dark death deep earth effect England enter existence face father fear feel flowers friends give given glory hand happiness head heart heaven hope hour human influence interest Italy kind known labor lady land leave less letter light living look means ment mind Miscellany months moral nature never night noble object once passed perfect person poor present race received remained rest scene seemed seen side soon soul speak spirit stand sweet tears thee things thou thought thousand tion true truth turned universal voice wealth whole young
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Sida 39 - And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; * They love to see the flaming forge. And hear the bellows roar. And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
Sida 39 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Sida 335 - His whole property is then immediately taxed from 2 to 10 per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel ; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his fathers, — to be taxed no more.
Sida 39 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Sida 335 - The schoolboy whips his taxed top ; the beardless youth manages his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road; and the dying Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has paid...
Sida 391 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Sida 316 - She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Sida 164 - They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright: at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
Sida 365 - Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Sida 188 - Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.