The History of Sudbury, Massachusetts. 1638-1889

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R. H. Blodgett, 1889 - 660 страници
 

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Страница 85 - Moreover, I do solemnly bind myself, in the sight of God, that, when I shall be called to give my voice touching any such matter of th,is state wherein freemen are to deal, I will give my vote and suffrage as I shall judge in mine own conscience may best conduce and tend to the public weal of the body, without respect of persons or favor of any man. So help me God, in the Lord Jesus Christ.
Страница 555 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Страница 592 - As ancient is this hostelry As any in the land may be, Built in the old Colonial day, When men lived in a grander way, With ampler hospitality...
Страница 82 - He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Страница 73 - What sought they thus afar ? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ; They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God.
Страница 586 - Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
Страница 351 - Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers...
Страница 566 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Страница 163 - Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, And herbs and plants the woods knew not Throve in the sun and rain. The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell, The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell, All made a landscape strange, Which was the living chronicle Of deeds that wrought the change. The...
Страница 151 - THE SETTLER. His echoing axe the settler swung Amid the sea-like solitude, And, rushing, thundering, down were flung The Titans of the wood ; Loud shrieked the eagle, as he dashed From out his mossy nest, which crashed With its supporting bough, And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed On the wolfs haunt below.

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