Normal Course in Reading: Fourth Reader

الغلاف الأمامي
Silver, Burdett & Company, 1895
 

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مقاطع مشهورة

الصفحة 12 - •S A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. — WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
الصفحة 95 - Some little good, — not in dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as Kindness, And nothing so royal as Truth. — ALICE CART.
الصفحة 72 - And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, A whisper inside me seemed to say, ' You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot: You can love and think, but the Earth cannot.
الصفحة 350 - 9. ROBERT BURNS. Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Let him turn and flee
الصفحة 83 - Because not a branch or a root I own ! I never have died, But close I hide In a plumy seed that the wind has sown. Patient I wait through the long winter hours; You will see me again — I shall laugh at you then Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers.
الصفحة 44 - When breezes are soft and skies are fair, I steal an hour from study and care, And hie me away to the woodland scene, Where wanders the stream with waters of green, As if the bright fringe of herbs
الصفحة 260 - Took the resin of the fir tree, Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water. Make a girdle for my beauty, And two stars to deck her bosom.' From a hollow tree the hedgehog With
الصفحة 82 - stem and blade! But under the ground I am safe and sound With the snow's thick blanket over me laid; I'm all alive and ready to shoot, Should the spring of the year Come dancing here — But I pity the flower without branch or root." "You think I am dead,
الصفحة 39 - THE EIVULET. This little rill, that from the springs Of yonder grove its current brings, Plays on the slope awhile, and then Goes prattling into groves again, Oft to its warbling waters drew My little feet when life was
الصفحة 348 - JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy with cheek of tan, With thy turned up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes. — THE BAREFOOT

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