The Golden Treasury of Irish Songs and Lyrics, Volume 1

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Charles Welsh
Dodge Publishing Company, 1907
 

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Page 151 - THOU art, O God ! the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Page 13 - We may not know, we cannot tell, what pains he had to bear, but we believe it was for us he hung and suffered there.
Page 128 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St Ann's our parting hymn.* Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight*» past Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
Page 360 - Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. " Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still ; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.
Page 306 - For the yeo-heave-o , and the heave-away, and the sighing seaman's cheer, When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home; And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last; A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast...
Page 152 - I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To pine on the stem ; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
Page 140 - Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Page 140 - Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away.
Page 366 - When lovely woman stoops to folly. And finds, too late, that men betray. What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover. To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, — is to die.
Page 471 - My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray: Its hold is frail— its date is brief, Restless— and soon to pass away!

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