Library of Southern Literature: Compiled Under the Direct Supervision of Southern Men of Letters, Volume 17

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Edwin Anderson Alderman, Joel Chandler Harris, Charles William Kent, Charles Alphonso Smith, Charles W. Kent, Lucian Lamar Knight, John Calvin Metcalf
Martin and Hoyt Company, 1923 - American literature
 

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Page 490 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how?
Page 463 - ... as these causes may be found in his character, will furnish a lesson well meriting the attention of those who are candidates for political fame. Endowed by nature with a sound judgment, and an accurate, discriminating mind, he feared not that laborious attention which made him perfectly master of those subjects, in all their relations, on which he was to decide ; and this essential quality was guided by an unvarying sense of moral right, which would tolerate the employment only of those means...
Page 335 - I am the son of thy servant Jesse the Beth-lehemite. And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.
Page 379 - I have not yet heard what happened. A woman writes me four pages to prove how dearly she loves my sister and invites me to her hotel — five miles away — "please to tell her about the sailing of the steamships." Six American preachers pass a resolution unanimously "urging our Ambassador to telegraph our beloved, peaceloving President to stop this awful war"; and they come with simple solemnity to present their resolution. Lord save us, what a world ! And this awful tragedy moves on to — what?...
Page 329 - It isn't raining rain to me, It's raining daffodils ; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. The clouds of gray engulf the day, And overwhelm the town; It isn't raining rain to me, It's raining roses down. It isn't raining rain to me, But fields of clover bloom, Where every buccaneering bee May find a bed and room ; A health unto the happy! A fig for him who frets! — It isn't raining rain to me, It's raining violets.
Page 21 - Tis the set of the sail and not the gale Which determines the way they go. As the winds of the sea are the ways of fate As we voyage along through life, 'Tis the act of the soul that determines the goal, And not the calm or the strife.
Page 276 - ... we are afraid to look life straight in the face and see in it, not the fulfilment of a moral law or of the deductions of reason, but the satisfaction of a passion in us of which we can give no rational account whatever.
Page 21 - Tis the set of the sails And not the gales Which tells us the way to go. Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate, As we voyage along through life; 'Tis the set of the soul That decides its goal And not the calm or the strife.
Page 279 - the charters of many of our old colonies give them, with few exceptions, no bounds to the westward but the South Sea...

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