Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
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Pàgina 178 - Jesus' sake, forbeare To dig the dust enclosed here: Blessed be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
Pàgina 119 - He repeated this so earnestly that we could not refuse; his daughters went into his study, opened his writing-desk, and laid paper and pens in the usual order, and I then moved him through the hall and into the spot where he had always been accustomed to work. When the chair was placed at the desk, and he found himself in the old position, he smiled and thanked us, and said, "Now give me my pen, and leave me for a little to myself.
Pàgina 244 - For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
Pàgina 89 - How hath the Lord covered the daughter of Zion with a cloud in his anger, and cast down from heaven unto the earth the beauty of Israel, and remembered not his footstool in the day of his anger!
Pàgina 245 - THE RETURN OF NAPOLEON From St. Helena. Ho ! city of the gay ! Paris ! what festal rite Doth call thy thronging million forth, All eager for the sight ' Thy soldiers line the streets In fixed and stern array, With buckled helm and bayonet, As on the battle day.
Pàgina 368 - God of our salvation; thou who art the hope of all the ends of the earth, and of those who are afar off upon the sea...
Pàgina 205 - Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete.
Pàgina 89 - Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest ? The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country — Israel but the grave !
Pàgina 249 - Marked the poor conscripts' grave, And, pierced by frost and famine, sank The bravest of the brave ! A thousand trembling lamps The gathered darkness mock, And velvet drapes his hearse, who died On bare Helena's rock ; And from the altar near, A never-ceasing hymn Is lifted by the chanting priests Beside the taper dim.