The Boys in White: The Experience of a Hospital Agent in and Around Washington

Priekinis viršelis
Lange & Hillman, 1870 - 268 psl.

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Turinys

Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską

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Populiarios ištraukos

31 psl. - To meet thy God prepare !' He woke, — and caught his Captain's eye ; Then, strong in faith and prayer, His spirit, with a bound, Left its encumbering clay ; His tent, at sunrise, on the ground, A darkened ruin lay.
227 psl. - 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.
73 psl. - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
121 psl. - 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.
31 psl. - The voice at midnight came; He started up to hear ; A mortal arrow pierced his frame — He fell, but felt no fear.
31 psl. - The pains of death are past; Labor and sorrow cease ; And, life's long warfare closed at last, His soul is found in peace. Soldier of Christ, well done ! Praise be thy new employ ; And, while eternal ages run, Rest in thy Saviour's joy.
139 psl. - re ever bending o'er her, Eyes that weep ; Forms, that to the cold grave bore her, Vigils keep. When the summer moon is shining Soft and fair, Friends she loved in tears are twining Chaplets there. Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, Throned above ; Souls like thine with God inherit Life and love ! EVENTIDE.
170 psl. - The throbbing heart's at rest; How still it lies within the breast! Why mourn? Since Death presents us peace And in the grave our Sorrows cease...
1 psl. - Whether on the scaffold high, Or in the battle's van, The fittest place for man to die, Is where he dies for man.
209 psl. - I do not mourn to lose you now For home and native land : Oh, proud am I to give my mite For freedom pure and grand ! Thank God ! no selfish thought is mine While here I bleeding lie : Bear, bear it tenderly away, — Good-by, old arm ! good-by I

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