Swinton's Third Reader

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Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor,, 1882 - 240 pages

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Page 201 - Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield; but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.
Page 150 - And he knew it, and said, It is my son's coat; an evil beast hath devoured him ; Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces.
Page 109 - I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country...
Page 154 - And Pharaoh took off his ring from his hand, and put it upon Joseph's hand, and arrayed him in vestures of fine linen, and put a gold chain about his neck : And he made him to ride in the second chariot which he had ; and they cried before him, Bow the knee : and he made him ruler over all the land of Egypt.
Page 208 - I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan : very pleasant hast thou been unto me : thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.
Page 190 - A word, a look, has crushed to earth Full many a budding flower : Which, had a smile but owned its birth, Would bless life's darkest hour. Then deem it not an idle thing A pleasant word to speak ; The face you wear, the thoughts you bring, A heart may heal or break.
Page 9 - Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get, Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret? And wouldn't it be wiser, Than waiting like a dunce, To go to work in earnest, And learn the thing at once? Suppose that some boys have a horse, And some a coach and pair, Will it tire you less, while walking, To say, "It isn't fair?
Page 197 - He would not hear thy voice, fair child, He may not come to thee ; The face that once like Spring-time smiled, On earth no more thou'lt see. " A rose's brief bright life of joy, Such unto him was given ; Go — thou must play alone, my boy! Thy brother is in heaven.
Page 147 - Hear, I pray you, this dream which I have dreamed : for, behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and, lo, my sheaf arose, and also stood upright; and, behold, your sheaves stood round about, and made obeisance to my sheaf.
Page 197 - And has he left his birds and flowers? And must I call in vain? And through the long, long summer hours Will he not come again? And by the brook, and in the glade, Are all our wanderings o'er? Oh, while my brother with me played, Would I had loved him more.

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