The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer

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Wilstach, Baldwin & Company, 1879 - 401 páginas
 

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Palavras e frases frequentes

Passagens conhecidas

Página 76 - Oh ! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming...
Página 206 - Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
Página 119 - Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green ; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.
Página 206 - Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, And from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, And under his wings shalt thou trust : His truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
Página 170 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home, Home, sweet, sweet Home ! There's no place like Home...
Página 220 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre...
Página 212 - Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to go.
Página 80 - Perhaps He will admit my plea, Perhaps will hear my prayer, But if I perish, I will pray, And perish only there. 6 I can but perish if I go; I am resolved to try; For, if I stay away, I know I must for ever die.
Página 79 - So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, Or more, And fortunes they all had galore, In store; From the minister down To the clerk of the Crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone! All...
Página 26 - The rushes and the willow-wand Are bristling into axe and brand, And every tuft of broom gives life To plaided warrior armed for strife. That whistle garrisoned the glen At once with full five hundred men, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterranean host had given.

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