First (-Fourth) reader

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Page 68 - 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 67 - 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 132 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 67 - 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 from a threshing floor.
Page 79 - He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he...
Page 104 - How pleasant the life of a. bird must be, Flitting about ,in each leafy tree; In the leafy trees so broad and tall, Like a green and beautiful palace hall, With its airy chambers, light and boon, That open to sun, and stars, and moon; That open unto the bright blue sky, And the frolicsome winds, as they wander by ! 2.
Page 78 - Now, I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height, In silence I'll take my way; I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain;— But I'll be as busy as they.
Page 133 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Page 132 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 96 - twas all about,' Young Peterkin, he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; 'Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for.

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