The Bookman, Količina 30

Sprednja platnica
Dodd, Mead and Company, 1910
 

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Priljubljeni odlomki

Stran 35 - I often think it's comical How Nature always does contrive That every boy and every gal, That's born into the world alive, Is either a little Liberal, Or else a little Conservative!
Stran 138 - Really, universally, relations stop nowhere, and the exquisite problem of the artist is eternally but to draw, by a geometry of his own, the circle within which they shall happily appear to do so.
Stran 124 - O'er lesser powers that be; But a mightier power and stronger Man from his throne has hurled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.
Stran 394 - Republican firesides, where the thoughtful voters, with wives and children about them, with the calm thoughts inspired by love of home and country, with the history of the past, the hopes of the future, and reverence for the great men who have adorned and blessed our nation in days gone by, burning in their hearts — there God prepares the verdict which will determine the wisdom of our work to-night.
Stran 534 - A CHRISTMAS CAROL IN PROSE. Being a Ghost Story of Christmas. By Charles Dickens.
Stran 321 - America is God's Crucible, the great Melting Pot where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here you stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you stand in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and your fifty blood hatreds and rivalries. But you won't be long like that, brothers, for these are the fires of God you've come to — these are the fires of God. A fig for your feuds and vendettas! Germans and Frenchmen, Irishmen and Englishmen,...
Stran 157 - Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain — Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The big drops, mingl1ng with the milk he drew, Gave the sad presage of his future years, The child of misery baptised in tears.
Stran 436 - SHE is not old, she is not young, The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue, The haggard cheek, the hungering eye, The poisoned words that wildly fly, The famished face, the fevered hand — Who slights the worthiest in the land, Sneers at the just, contemns the brave, And blackens goodness in the grave. In truthful numbers be she sung, The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue...
Stran 157 - He actually shed tears. He asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a halfforgotten poem of Langhorne's, called by the unpromising title of

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