Mother Carey's Chickens

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Houghton Mifflin, 1911 - Всего страниц: 355

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Стр. 18 - There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles The early lilacs became part of this child...
Стр. 264 - For this man was counted worthy of more glory than Moses, inasmuch as he who hath builded the house, hath more honour than the house. 4 For every house is builded by some man; but he that built all things is God.
Стр. 58 - ... cobbling, basting, filing, planing, hammering, turning, polishing, moulding, measuring, chiselling, clipping, and so forth, as men do when they go to work to make anything. But, instead of that, she sat quite still with her chin upon her hand, looking down into the sea with two great grand blue eyes, as blue as the sea itself.
Стр. 264 - And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.
Стр. 41 - Two of us in the churchyard lie, my sister and my brother. And in the churchyard cottage, I dwell near them with my mother.
Стр. 115 - Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken; neither shall thy land any more be termed Desolate: but thou shalt be called Hephzi-bah, and thy land Beulah: for the LORD delighteth in thee, and thy land shall be married.
Стр. 272 - We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on; We murmur, but the corn-ears fill ; We choose the shadow, but the sun That casts it shines behind us still.
Стр. 16 - THERE came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked — and laughed! It seemed so curious that she Should cross the Unknown water, And moor herself within my room— My daughter! O, my daughter! Yet by these presents witness all She's welcome fifty times, And comes consigned in hope and love — And common-metre rhymes.
Стр. 272 - Once more the liberal year laughs out O'er richer stores than gems or gold ; Once more with harvest-song and shout Is Nature's bloodless triumph told. Our common mother rests and sings, Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves ; Her lap is full of goodly things, Her brow is bright with autumn leaves. Oh, favors every year made new ! Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! The bounty overruns our due, The fulness shames our discontent.
Стр. 355 - Come, my Beloved, haste away, ' Cut short the hours of thy delay, * Fly like a youthful hart or roe * Over the hills where spices grow.

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