Waifs and thier Authors. |
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˹éÒ 209 - ALL hail the power of Jesus' name ! Let angels prostrate fall ; Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown him Lord of all.
˹éÒ 221 - Potomac," they say. Except now and then a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. "Tis nothing; a private or two now and then Will not count in the news of the battle. Not an officer lost — only one of the men Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle. All quiet along the Potomac...
˹éÒ 141 - Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding The generous deed was done ; In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won ; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day ; Under the blossoms, the Blue ; Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red ; They banish our anger forever, When they laurel the graves of our dead.
˹éÒ 244 - It was o'er ; the bell ceased swaying ; and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the damp old ladder, where, for hundred years before Human foot had not been planted ; and what she this night had done Should be told long ages after.
˹éÒ 112 - When I think of the paths steep and stony Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the tempest of fate blowing wild ; Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child.
˹éÒ 112 - The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod ; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, They have taught me the goodness of God...
˹éÒ 113 - I shut them from breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction ; My love is the law of the school I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more ; Ah ! how I shall sigh for the dear ones, That meet me each morn at the door ! I shall miss the
˹éÒ 222 - Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack, — his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children...
˹éÒ 104 - Better to weave in the web of life A bright and golden filling. And to do God's will with a ready heart And hands that are swift and willing. Than to snap the delicate, slender threads Of our curious lives asunder, And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends. And sit and grieve and wonder.
˹éÒ 162 - They'll come again to the apple tree, Robin and all the rest, When the orchard branches are fair to see In the snow of the blossoms drest; And the prettiest thing in the world will be The building of the nest.
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| ª×èÍ˹ѧÊ×Í | Waifs and thier Authors. |
| ¼Ùéáµè§ | ALPHONSO A. HOPKINS |
| ¨Ñ´¾ÔÁ¾ì | 1876 |
| Êè§ÍÍ¡¡ÒÃÍéÒ§ÍÔ§ | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |