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" All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. "
The Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art - Pągina 194
1867
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The Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge, Volum 4

1834 - 440 pągines
...of heaven, Through the still lapse of apes. All that tread Are shining on the sad abodes of death, The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce, Where rolls the Orogon, and hears...
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The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation ...

John Pierpont - 1835 - 484 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still...its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no...
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The American First Class Book: Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation ...

John Pierpont - 1835 - 484 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that treat TLe globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning...
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Poems

William Cullen Bryant - 1836 - 286 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still...its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregau, and hears no...
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The American Orator's Own Book: Or, The Art of Extemporaneous Public ...

1836 - 362 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still...slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no...
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The Laurel: a Gift for All Seasons: Being a Collection of Poems

1836 - 268 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still...its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no...
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Annual Meeting: Proceedings, Constitution, List of Active Members, and Addresses

American Institute of Instruction - 1838 - 292 pągines
...immediately suggest that beautiful idea of him who stands at the head of the list of our native bards ; " All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." TEACHING OP COMPOSITION IN SCHOOLS. The facility with which the pupil, after a little practice, with...
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Prize Essay and Lectures, Delivered Before the American Institute ..., Volum 8

American Institute of Instruction - 1838 - 296 pągines
...immediately suggest that beautiful idea of him who stands at the head of the list of our native bards ; " All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." The facility with which the pupil, after a little practice, with the aidjof models and suggestions...
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The Young Lady's Reader

Louisa Caroline Tuthill - 1839 - 482 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still...slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no...
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The Remembrancer: Or, Fragments for Leisure Hours ...

Association for the Improvement of Juvenile Books - 1841 - 250 pągines
...decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. The planets, all the infinite host of heaven Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still...slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no...
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