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Page 166 - Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid ; Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
Page 6 - 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.
Page 68 - Down went the Royal George 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.
Page 98 - Father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" —And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 172 - Thou shalt see my glory soon, When the work of grace is done ; Partner of my throne shalt be : Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me...
Page 22 - But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi...
Page 154 - I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! — oh, my daughter!
Page 38 - With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cried aloud, " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...
Page 20 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, re-appearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory; The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Page 18 - Streaming among the streams ;— Her steps paved with green The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams : And gliding and springing, She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep ; The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook ; And opened a chasm In the rocks; — with the spasm All Erymanthus shook.