« VorigeDoorgaan »
Hail to the morn, when first they stood
On Bunker's height,
In desperate fight!
There is no other land like thee,
No dearer shore;
Till time is o'er.
Thou art the firm, unshaken rock
On which we rest; And, rising from thy hardy stock, Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock, And Slavery's galling chains unlock,
And free th' oppressed; All, who the wreath of Freedom twine, Beneath the shadow of their vine
We love thy rude and rocky shore,
And here we stand
And storm our land;
They still shall find our lives are given
Science, against, launch, launch’d, tent, tenth, tenths, tents,
wants, want'st, means.
The Village Blacksmith.
UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;.
With large and sinewy hands;
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long ;
His face is like the tan;
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
With measured beat and slow,
And children, coming home from school,
Look in at the open door ;
And hear the bellows roar,
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
IIe hears his daughter's voice
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise !
Ilow in the grave she lies ;
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling - rejoicing - sorrowing
Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin
Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose..
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding an vil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
IN ARTICULATION. Play, people, peopld, peopl'dst, scruples, scruplst, open,
open'd, opens, praise, droops, droop'st, precept, precepts, accept'st, depth, depths.
What the Heart of the young Man said to the Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
Finds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
Footprints on the sands of time
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Learn to labor and to wait.
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
Herb, verb, curb, curb'd, curb'dst, herbs, verbs, curbs,
curb'st, bard, bards, rewards, reward'st, surf, scarfs, iceberg, icebergs, barge, urge, urg'd.
The Cataract and the Streamlet ; or, Power and
Gentleness. BERNARD BARTON.
NOBLE the mountain stream,
Glory is in its gleam