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Side 310 - Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever One grand, sweet song.
Side 202 - Had cheer'd the village with his song, Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended, Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite ; When, looking eagerly around, He spied, far off upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glow-worm by his spark ; So, stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent : Did you admire my lamp...
Side 220 - Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal. "We'da deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and had to clear away this morning, mother!
Side 309 - ... ruffle of drums, A flash of color beneath the sky : Hats off! The flag is passing by!
Side 276 - I'VE watched you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower ; And, little Butterfly ! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless ! — not frozen seas More motionless ! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again...
Side 52 - Whenever the moon and stars are set? Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Side 308 - Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; And loyal hearts are beating high: Hats off! The flag is passing by!
Side 309 - Stately honor and reverend awe; Sign of a nation, great and strong To ward her people from foreign wrong: Pride and glory and honor, — all Live in the colors to stand or fall.
Side 260 - A SWARM of bees in May Is worth a load of hay; A swarm of bees in June Is worth a silver spoon; A swarm of bees in July Is not worth a fly.
Side 286 - From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain ; They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.