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Σελίδα 17 - In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat. Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak ! That was a time, a blessed time, "When hearts were fresh and young, When freely...
Σελίδα 24 - But why do I talk of Death ? That phantom of grisly bone ? I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own — It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep ; Oh, God!
Σελίδα 17 - Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, To leir ilk ither lear; And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair. I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof, What our wee heads could think? When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, Wi' ae buik on our knee, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but My lesson was in thee.
Σελίδα 264 - neath thy household tree The idol of her fondest care ; And by thy trust to be forgiven When judgment wakes in terror wild, By all thy treasured hopes of heaven, Deal gently with the widow's child.
Σελίδα 228 - It is not impertinent to offer flowers to a stranger. The poorest child can proffer them to the richest. A hundred persons turned together into a meadow full of flowers would be drawn together in a transient brotherhood.
Σελίδα 17 - Had ony power to speak! That was a time, a blessed time, When hearts were fresh and young When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled, — unsung ! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi...
Σελίδα 9 - neath the heaven above us; Home is where there's one to love! Home is where there's one to love us! Home's not merely roof and room-- It needs something to endear it; Home is where the heart can bloom , Where there's some kind lip to cheer it! What is home with none to meet, None to welcome, none to greet us? Home is sweet- -and only sweet- Where there's one we love to meet us!
Σελίδα 17 - How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the scule-weans laughin' said, We cleek'd thegither hame? And mind ye o' the Saturdays (The scule then skailt at noon), When we ran aff to speel the braes — The broomy braes o...