Отзывы - Написать отзыв
Не удалось найти ни одного отзыва.
Другие издания - Просмотреть все
Address American arithmetic attendance become better birds boys building called cents Chicago child College contains course district edited English experience fact four French give given grade grammar high school hundred illustrated Indians institute instruction interest JOURNAL language leading less lines literature live Madison matter means meeting method Michigan Milwaukee months nature normal normal school notes practical preparation present Price principal Publishers pupils question readers reading relation rural story superintendent teachers teaching things tion United week Wisconsin write York young
Стр. 34 - Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Стр. 190 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Стр. 186 - Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.
Стр. 191 - tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death ; From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud : — Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Стр. 48 - Thy sinless land, Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; From angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song.
Стр. 190 - O playmate in the golden time ! Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet, The old trees o'er it lean. The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow ; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago.