Pleasant pages (by S.P. Newcombe). [With suppl., entitled] Fireside facts from the Great exhibition

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Page 26 - 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 glowworm 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...
Page 102 - Kings of the earth, and all people; princes, and all judges of the earth: Both young men, and maidens; old men, and children: Let them praise the name of the Lord: for his name alone is excellent; his glory is above the earth and heaven.
Page 24 - Both riches and honour come of thee, and thou reignest over all; and in thine hand is power and might; and in thine hand it is to make great, and to give strength unto all.
Page 247 - The Spaniards, while thus employed, were surrounded by many of the natives, who gazed in silent admiration upon actions which they could not comprehend, and of which they did not foresee the consequences. The dress of the Spaniards, the whiteness of their skins, their beards, their arms, appeared strange and surprising. The vast machines in which they had traversed the ocean, that seemed to move upon the waters with wings, and uttered a dreadful sound resembling thunder, accompanied with lightning...
Page 370 - A feeble voice was heard to implore : — " Cold blows the blast across the moor ; The sleet drives hissing in the wind; Yon toilsome mountain lies before ; A dreary, treeless waste behind. " My eyes are weak and dim with age; No road, no path, can I descry ; And these poor rags ill stand the rage Of such a keen, inclement sky. " So faint I am, these tottering feet No more my feeble frame can bear; My sinking heart forgets to beat, And drifting snows my tomb prepare.
Page 150 - They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak ; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think : They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three.
Page 70 - Lord of every land and nation, Ancient of eternal days ! Sounded through the wide creation Be thy just and lawful praise.
Page 381 - WHAT is that, Mother ? The lark, my child ! The morn has but just looked out, and smiled ; When he starts, from his humble, grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out, in his Maker's ear : Ever my child, be thy morn's first lays, Tuned,' like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. What is that, Mother...
Page 381 - What is that, mother ? The dove, my son ! And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure, by that lonely nest, As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, For her distant dear one's quick return. Ever, my son, be thou like the dove — In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. What is that, mother...
Page 257 - Nature's care, And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow; Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see...

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