The Girl's Reading-book: In Prose and Poetry, for Schools

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Turner, Hughes & Hayden, 1843 - 243 стор.

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Сторінка 47 - The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.
Сторінка 78 - Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.
Сторінка 136 - Except ye become as little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Сторінка 180 - Or sorrow wake the tear, Rise to thy home of rest, In yon celestial sphere. Because thy smile was fair, Thy lip and eye so bright, because thy cradle-care Was such a fond delight, Shall Love, with weak embrace, Thy heavenward flight detain?
Сторінка 136 - ... and the unfed beggar came tottering from his door. But he considered not that the cries of the oppressed were continually entering into the ears of the Most High. And when I knew that this man was...
Сторінка 125 - ... the frantic violence of the father. Harshness, and the agitation of fear, deepened a disease which might else have yielded. The timid boy, in terror of his natural protector, withered away like a blighted flower. It was of no avail that friends remonstrated with the unfeeling parent, or that hoary-headed men warned him solemnly of his sins. Intemperance had destroyed his respect for man, and his fear of God.
Сторінка 68 - For these things I weep: mine eye, mine eye runneth down with water, because the comforter that should relieve my soul is far from me: my children are desolate, because the enemy prevailed.
Сторінка 222 - As if that hand were there. Years fled, and left me childhood's joy, Gay sports and pastimes dear ; I rose a wild and wayward boy, Who scorned the curb of fear. Fierce passions shook me like a reed ; Yet, ere at night I slept, That soft hand made my bosom bleed, And down I fell, and wept.
Сторінка 178 - Nought she spied Save wide, dark waters, and a frowning sky, Nor found her weary foot a place of rest. So, with a leaf of olive in her mouth, Sole fruit of her drear voyage, which, perchance, Upon some wrecking billow floated by, With drooping wing the peaceful ark she sought. The righteous man that wandering dove received, And to her mate restored, who, with sad moans, Had wondered at her absence.
Сторінка 241 - That thou didst sometimes check my force, Or, trifling, stay mine upward course, Or lure from heaven my wavering trust, Or bow my drooping wing to dust, I blame thee not ; the strife is done ; I knew thou wert the weaker one, The vase of earth, the trembling clod, Constrained to hold the breath of God. Well hast thou in my service wrought...

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