The American Teacher, Volume 3

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New-England Publishing Company, 1885
 

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Page 51 - It touched the tangled golden curls. And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. "For near her stood the little boy Her childish favor singled: His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. "Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left he lingered ; As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered.
Page 50 - WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there...
Page 51 - I'm sorry that I spelt the word : I hate to go above you, Because," — the brown eyes lower fell, — "Because, you see, I love you!
Page 112 - She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death.
Page 12 - FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Page 112 - The old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace fire upon the cold wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death.
Page 113 - The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 113 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Page 112 - She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage ; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever.
Page 50 - Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! By angel hands to valor given ; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven.

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