Tillers of the Soil

Predný obal
Duffield, 1910 - 364 strán (strany)

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Populárne pasáže

Strana 263 - My heart was hot within me ; and while I was thus musing the fire kindled : and at the last I spake with my tongue...
Strana 108 - O! why did God Creator wise, that peopled highest heaven With spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men, as angels, without feminine j Or find some other way to generate Mankind...
Strana 258 - JUST as I am, without one plea, But that Thy blood was shed for me, And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee, O Lamb of God, I come.
Strana 319 - I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends, But, oh ! they love the better still The few our Father sends ! And you were all I had, Mary, My blessin' and my pride ! There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died.
Strana 134 - I hate him for he is a Christian; But more for that in low simplicity He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
Strana 319 - I'M sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, When first you were my bride. The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek: And I still keep list'nin' for the words...
Strana 263 - I held my tongue, and spake nothing : I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me.
Strana 109 - And strait conjunction with this sex: for either He never shall find out fit mate, but such As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain Through her perverseness, but shall see her...
Strana 46 - And pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot ; Burnt to pot ! burnt to pot ! Till pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot, Burnt to pot! burnt to pot! We'll drink off the liquor while we can stand, And hey for the honour of old England ! Old England!
Strana 45 - OUR oats they are howed, and our barley 's reaped, Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped; Harvest home! harvest home! We'll merrily roar out our harvest home ! Harvest home! harvest home! We'll merrily roar out our harvest home ! We'll merrily roar out our harvest home! We cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again ; For why should the vicar have one in ten?

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