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Page 15 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays: Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Page 617 - It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so : That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip, Thou dost not falL 'PERCHE PENSA?
Page 127 - Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song! Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong! Our fathers...
Page 273 - We will fight for the ideals and sacred things of the city, both alone and with many; we will revere and obey the city's laws, and do our best to incite a like respect and reverence in those above us who are prone to annul or set them at naught; we will strive unceasingly to quicken the public's sense of civic duty.
Page 106 - OUR fathers' God ! from out whose hand The centuries fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done, And trust Thee for the opening one.
Page 314 - I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o
Page 409 - WHAT flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from Heaven so freshly born ? With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land : Oh tell us what its name may be, — Is this the Flower of Liberty? It is the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty!
Page 564 - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.