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446 ページ - The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun ; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks, That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man!
307 ページ - I [hold] it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
185 ページ - We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, And run the same course our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink; To the life we are clinging they also would cling; But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.
185 ページ - So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed, That withers away to let others succeed ; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told.
185 ページ - tis the draught of a breath — From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud : — Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
384 ページ - Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
415 ページ - Still thou turnedst, and still Beckonedst the trembler, and still Gavest the weary thy hand. If, in the paths of the world, Stones might have wounded thy feet, Toil or dejection have tried Thy spirit, of that we saw Nothing - to us thou wast still Cheerful, and helpful, and firm! Therefore to thee it was given Many to save with thyself; And, at the end of thy day, O faithful shepherd! to come, Bringing thy sheep in thy hand.
383 ページ - In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the Pass!
262 ページ - THE friendly cow all red and white, I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might To eat with apple-tart. She wanders lowing here and there, And yet she cannot stray, All in the pleasant open air, The pleasant light of day; And blown by all the winds that pass And wet with all the showers, She walks among the meadow grass And eats the meadow flowers.