The Golden Deed Book: A School Reader

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Macmillan, 1913 - 351 pages
 

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Page 213 - But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God: for he hath prepared for them a city.
Page 216 - Came thro' the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.
Page 157 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main; The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming Lair.
Page 240 - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii. Look ! in this place, ran Cassius...
Page 129 - My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
Page 335 - I SING of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June and July flowers...
Page 214 - HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade ! " Charge for the guns ! " he said : Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Page 243 - I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Page 237 - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him: The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar.
Page 166 - It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

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