Analysis of sentences, with copious exercises

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A. Wheaton and Company, 1883 - 18 pages
 

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Page 11 - We have not wings, we cannot soar: But we have feet to scale and climb, By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.
Page 11 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...
Page 11 - Behold, the eye of the LORD is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy ; 19 To deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine.
Page 11 - WHAT is truth ?" said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness, and count it a bondage to fix a belief, affecting free-will in thinking as well as in acting. And though the sects of philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain certain discoursing wits which are of the same veins, though there be not...
Page 7 - And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
Page 10 - THERE is a book, who runs may read, Which heavenly truth imparts, And all the lore its scholars need, Pure eyes and Christian hearts. The works of God above, below, Within us and around, Are pages in that book, to show How God Himself is found.
Page 11 - Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise. No marvel that the lady wept : there was no land on earth She loved like that dear land, although she owed it not her birth. It was her mother's land — the land of childhood and of friends ; It was the land where she had found for all her griefs...
Page 8 - BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his Native Land.
Page 11 - Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth.
Page 11 - I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.

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