Introduction to the English Reader, Or A Selection of Pieces: In Prose and Poetry ... To which are Added, Rules and Observations for Assisting Children to Read with Propriety ... to Which, by the Aid of a Key, is Scrupulously Applied Mr. Walkers' Pronunciation ...

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R.S. Davis, 1835 - 168 من الصفحات
 

ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة

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الصفحة 147 - AWAKE, my soul, stretch every nerve, And press with vigor on: A heavenly race demands thy zeal, And an immortal crown. 2...
الصفحة 147 - Hark! they whisper; Angels say, Sister Spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
الصفحة 99 - The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, were these. "The winds roared, and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn.
الصفحة 138 - And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last.
الصفحة 86 - I then came home and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain...
الصفحة 149 - Thine eye commands with piercing view My rising and my resting hours, My heart and flesh, with all their powers. 2 My thoughts, before they are my own, Are to my God distinctly known ; He knows the words I mean to speak, Ere from my opening lips they break.
الصفحة 119 - Rest, little young One, rest ; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away...
الصفحة 99 - I was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation, which I briefly explained to her; whereupon, with looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and told me to follow her.
الصفحة 130 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
الصفحة 134 - But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? Whose seats the weary traveller repose? Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise? "The Man of Ross!" each lisping babe replies. Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread! The Man of Ross...

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