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angel arms bear beauty beneath blessed blood breath broken brow cloud cold comes curse dark dead death deep dream earth evil face fair faith fall fathers fear feel feet fell fire flowers forest Freedom give glance gone grave gray green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hills holy hour human Indian land leaves light lips living look Lord morning mountain never night NOTE o'er once pale passed poor prayer priest rest rise rock round seen shade shadow shine shore side slave smile soft song soul sound spirit stand stood stream strong sweet tears tell thee thine thou thought tree truth turned unto voice wall warm waters wave weary wild wind wood wrong young
339. oldal - I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be ; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea.
291. oldal - Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on ! Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won ? " Alas ! alas ! I know not ; friend and foe together fall, O'er the dying rush the living : pray, my sisters, for them all...
225. oldal - Like warp and woof all destinies Are woven fast, Linked in sympathy like the keys Of an organ vast. ' Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar ; Break but one Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar Through all will run.
403. oldal - Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing. Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
114. oldal - What, ho ! — our countrymen in chains ! The whip on WOMAN'S shrinking flesh ! Our soil yet reddening with the stains Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh ! What ! mothers from their children riven ! What ! God's own image bought and sold! AMERICANS to market driven, And bartered as the brute for gold...
290. oldal - Holy Mother ! keep our brothers ! Look, Ximena, look once more : • " Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse, Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.
292. oldal - A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in the North!" Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena! "Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountain, leaving blood and death behind; Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive; Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God, forgive!
296. oldal - Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking ; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest For the full day-breaking...