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Страница 296 - And only the Master shall praise us. and only the Master shall blame: And no one shall work for money. and no one shall work for fame. But each for the joy of the working. and each. in his separate star. Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!
Страница 98 - In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row. That mark our place; and in the sky The larks still bravely singing fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead, short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Страница 432 - THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.
Страница 65 - Even if we grant that exalted poetry can be kept successful by itself, the strong things of life are needed in poetry also, to show that what is exalted, or tender, is not made by feeble blood. It may almost be said that before verse can be human again it must learn to be brutal.
Страница 60 - What need you, being come to sense, But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, until You have dried the marrow from the bone? For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Страница 128 - Booth led boldly with his big bass drum — (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) The Saints smiled gravely and they said: "He's come." (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb...
Страница 531 - Columbia, any woman or girl for the purpose of prostitution or debauchery, or for any other immoral purpose...
Страница 129 - Master thro' the flag-filled air. Christ came gently with a robe and crown For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down. He saw King Jesus. They were face to face, And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place. Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Страница 69 - The heaped-up sods upon the fire, The pile of turf against the wall ! To have a clock with weights and chains And pendulum swinging up and down! A dresser filled with shining delph, Speckled and white and blue and brown! I could be busy all the day Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, And fixing on their shelf again My white and blue and speckled store! I could be quiet there at night Beside the fire and by myself, Sure of a bed and loth to leave The ticking clock and the shining delph!