The Child's own annual

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Priljubljeni odlomki

Stran 143 - twas a famous victory. My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by, They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly ; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then, And new-born infant, died.
Stran 142 - She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh " Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.
Stran 6 - Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold — Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand — Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? " " Not there, not there, my child...
Stran 144 - They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won And our good Prince Eugene." "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory.
Stran 142 - IT wAS a summer evening; Old Kaspar's work was done. And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round. Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found.
Stran 78 - O Thou by whom we come to God, The Life, the Truth, the Way, The path of prayer Thyself hast trod ;
Stran 111 - And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill ; But One was there, who rose and said To the wild sea— Be still!
Stran 78 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Stran 78 - Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high.

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