Colonial Families and Thier Descendants, by One of the Oldest Graduates of St. Mary's Hall, Burlington, N. J.: "The First Female Church-school Established in the United States, which Has Reached Its Sixty-first Year

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Press of the Sun printing office, 1900 - 239 strán (strany)
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Strana 11 - You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled, — How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.
Strana 214 - Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed : Teach me to die, that so I may Rise glorious at the awful day.
Strana 29 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Strana 50 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet...
Strana 89 - WOODMAN, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand — Thy axe shall harm it not! That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea — And wouldst thou hew it down?
Strana 89 - When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy, Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here; My father pressed my...
Strana 81 - Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come...
Strana 208 - Sculptors of life are we as we stand With our souls uncarved before us, Waiting the hour, when at God's command, Our life dream passes o'er us. If we carve it then on the yielding stone, With many a sharp incision, Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, Our lives that angel vision.
Strana 89 - Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not! That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea, And wouldst thou hew it down ? Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh, spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies.

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