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قراءة كتاب The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 102, April, 1866 A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 102, April, 1866 A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
الصفحة رقم: 7
at my side;
No titles shall freeze us, no grandeurs infest,—
His Honor, His Worship, are boys like the rest.
Some won the world's homage,—their names we hold dear,—
But Friendship, not Fame, is the countersign here;
Make room by the conqueror crowned in the strife
For the comrade that limps from the battle of life!
But Friendship, not Fame, is the countersign here;
Make room by the conqueror crowned in the strife
For the comrade that limps from the battle of life!
What tongue talks of battle? Too long we have heard
In sorrow, in anguish, that terrible word;
It reddened the sunshine, it crimsoned the wave,
It sprinkled our doors with the blood of our brave.
In sorrow, in anguish, that terrible word;
It reddened the sunshine, it crimsoned the wave,
It sprinkled our doors with the blood of our brave.
Peace, Peace, comes at last, with her garland of white;
Peace broods in all hearts as we gather to-night;
The blazon of Union spreads full in the sun;
We echo its words,—We are One! We are One!
Peace broods in all hearts as we gather to-night;
The blazon of Union spreads full in the sun;
We echo its words,—We are One! We are One!
WERE THEY CRICKETS?
About seven years ago, (it is possible that some of my readers may recall it,) the following paragraph appeared in the New York daily papers;—