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324. oldal - Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting-place for those •who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground.
673. oldal - And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying: 'Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee.' 'Come, wander with me,' she said, 'Into regions yet untrod; And read what is still unread In the manuscripts of God.' And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe. And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail, She would sing a more wonderful song, Or tell a more marvellous tale.
202. oldal - But the decline of Rome was the natural and inevitable effect of immoderate greatness. Prosperity ripened the principle of decay; the causes of destruction multiplied with the extent of conquest; and as soon as time or accident had removed the artificial supports, the stupendous fabric yielded to the pressure of its own weight. The story of its ruin is simple and obvious; and instead of inquiring why the Roman empire was destroyed, we should rather be surprised that it had subsisted so long.
110. oldal - Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song! Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong! Our fathers...
234. oldal - By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their...
614. oldal - The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo ; No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents are spread, And Glory guards with solemn round The bivouac of the dead.
325. oldal - Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red ; They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead ! Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment-day; — Love and tears for the Blue, Tears and love for the Gray.
614. oldal - The heroes' sepulchre. Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead ! Dear as the blood ye gave, No impious footstep here shall tread The herbage of your grave ; Nor shall your glory be forgot While Fame her record keeps, Or Honor points the hallowed spot Where Valor proudly sleeps.
616. oldal - I LOVE my country's pine-clad hills, Her thousand bright and gushing rills, Her sunshine and her storms ; Her rough and rugged rocks that rear Their hoary heads high in the air In wild fantastic forms.