Reason in rhyme: a poetry book for the young

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William P. Nimmo, 1866 - 72 pages
 

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Page 33 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 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.
Page 20 - And still, as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike men their gates wide open threw.
Page 32 - And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff
Page 19 - Good lack ! quoth he, yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise.
Page 22 - Inclined to tarry there; For why? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did he fly which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin, out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the Calender's His horse at last stood still.
Page 30 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ; This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 20 - He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; Away went hat and wig; He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig.
Page 31 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Page 39 - 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 17 - I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend, the Calender, Will lend his horse to go.

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