Naomi: Or, Boston, Two Hundred Years Ago

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W. Crosby & H.P. Nichols, 1848 - Society of Friends - 448 pages

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Page 22 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.
Page 115 - Alas ! for them — their day is o'er. Their fires are out from hill and shore; No more for them the wild deer bounds, The plough is on their hunting grounds; The pale man's axe rings through their woods, The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods, Their pleasant springs are dry ; Their children — look, by power oppressed, Beyond the mountains of the west, Their children go -— to die.
Page 36 - A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel 13 light. XV.— I WANDERED LONELY. 1804. I WANDERED lonely as a cloud...
Page 132 - But the doomed Indian leaves behind no trace, To save his own, or serve another race ; With his frail breath his power has passed away, His deeds, his thoughts are buried with his clay ; Nor lofty pile, nor glowing page Shall link him to a future age, Or give him with the past a rank : His heraldry is but a broken bow, His history but a tale of wrong and woe, His very name must be a blank.
Page 331 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 431 - Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession. Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel.
Page 152 - If this fair rose offend thy sight, It in thy bosom wear ; 'T will blush to find itself less white, And turn Lancastrian there.
Page 7 - Before these fields were shorn and tilled, Full to the brim our rivers flowed ; The melody of waters filled The fresh and boundless wood ; And torrents dashed and rivulets played, And fountains spouted in the shade.
Page 86 - The sceptre's might, the crosier's pride, Ye do not fear ; No conquest blade, in life-blood dyed, Drops terror here — Let there not lurk a subtler snare, For wisdom's footsteps to beware ; The shackle and the stake...

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