Songs for the Little Ones at Home

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American Tract Society, 1852 - Children's songs - 288 pages
 

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Page 272 - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea ; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free ! The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — This was their welcome home.
Page 141 - Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.
Page 270 - Speak, father !" once again he cried, " If I may yet be gone : And — " 'but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 58 - Little drops of water, Little grains of sand Make the mighty ocean, And the pleasant land.
Page 109 - In works of labour, or of skill, I would be busy too ; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.
Page 140 - Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell.
Page 271 - While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound, — The boy ! — oh, where was he ? Ask of the winds, that far around With fragments strewed the sea, — With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part ; But the noblest thing that perished there, Was that young faithful heart ! THOMAS...
Page 269 - THE boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but he had fled ; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The...
Page 271 - And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted came, Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame ; Not as the flying come, In silence...
Page 141 - And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.

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