Christmas, Its Origin, Celebration and Significance as Related in Prose and Verse

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Robert Haven Schauffler
Moffet, Yard & Company, 1907 - Всего страниц: 332

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Стр. 27 - To you in David's town, this day, Is born of David's line, The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ; And this shall be the sign. 4 " The heavenly babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapped in swathing bands, And in a manger laid.
Стр. 73 - Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow : And with your ninefold harmony, Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Стр. 25 - Hark! The herald angels sing Glory to the newborn King Peace on earth and mercy mild God and sinners reconciled Joyful, all ye nations, rise Join the triumph of the skies With the angelic host proclaim "Christ is born in Bethlehem" Hark the herald angels sing Glory to the newborn King 2.
Стр. 43 - Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.
Стр. 200 - And ye, beneath life's crushing load Whose forms are bending low ; Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow, — Look now ! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing; O, rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing.
Стр. 82 - Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding!
Стр. 141 - The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid, the night is still; A single church below the hill Is pealing, folded in the mist. A single peal of bells below, That wakens at this hour of rest A single murmur in the breast, That these are not the bells I know. Like strangers...
Стр. 39 - It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to Him Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize : It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Стр. 40 - She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

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