Lyrics of loyalty, arranged and edited by F. Moore, Volumul 651864 |
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Pagina ix
... Wounded . C. K. Tuckerman ... 148 Light .... C. F ... 149 0. W. Holmes . 150 .Anonymous ... 152 Trumpet Song . Put it Through . Roll Call ... " Picciola " Move on the Columns . Lander .... Gently ! Gently !. Not Yet .... March Along ...
... Wounded . C. K. Tuckerman ... 148 Light .... C. F ... 149 0. W. Holmes . 150 .Anonymous ... 152 Trumpet Song . Put it Through . Roll Call ... " Picciola " Move on the Columns . Lander .... Gently ! Gently !. Not Yet .... March Along ...
Pagina 18
... wounded , Ah , me ! alas ! we saw The name of our noble brother , Who went to the Southern war . He fell in the tide of battle On the banks of the old " Hatchie , " And rests ' neath the wild grape arbors In the woods of Tennessee ...
... wounded , Ah , me ! alas ! we saw The name of our noble brother , Who went to the Southern war . He fell in the tide of battle On the banks of the old " Hatchie , " And rests ' neath the wild grape arbors In the woods of Tennessee ...
Pagina 30
... bullets Are wasted in air . Triumphant , remorseless , Unerring as death , - No sabre that's stainless Returns to its sheath . The wounds that are dealt By that murderous steel - SNOW SCULPTURE . Will never yield case For the surgeon.
... bullets Are wasted in air . Triumphant , remorseless , Unerring as death , - No sabre that's stainless Returns to its sheath . The wounds that are dealt By that murderous steel - SNOW SCULPTURE . Will never yield case For the surgeon.
Pagina 37
... , ah ! my aching heart will burst , While waiting for the news . Wounded upon that gory field , Forsaken he may die ; Nor mother there to wet his lips , Nor raise his hopes on high ; 38 A MOTHER WAITING FOR THE NEWS . Disfigured ,
... , ah ! my aching heart will burst , While waiting for the news . Wounded upon that gory field , Forsaken he may die ; Nor mother there to wet his lips , Nor raise his hopes on high ; 38 A MOTHER WAITING FOR THE NEWS . Disfigured ,
Pagina 46
... wounds and anguish , groans and tears , That fill our inmost hearts with fears . Oh , darkly now the tempest rolls , Wide o'er our desolated souls ; Yet , beaten downward to the dust , In Thy forgiveness still we trust . We trust to Thy ...
... wounds and anguish , groans and tears , That fill our inmost hearts with fears . Oh , darkly now the tempest rolls , Wide o'er our desolated souls ; Yet , beaten downward to the dust , In Thy forgiveness still we trust . We trust to Thy ...
Cuprins
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148 | |
238 | |
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286 | |
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335 | |
Alte ediții - Afișează-le pe toate
Lyrics of loyalty, arranged and edited by F. Moore, Volumul 65 Frank Moore Vizualizare completă - 1864 |
Lyrics of loyalty, arranged and edited by F. Moore, Volumul 65 Frank Moore Vizualizare completă - 1864 |
Termeni și expresii frecvente
banner battle bless blood blow BOY BRITTAN brave breast breath Broadside brother brow Canaän CARTE DE VISITE cheer clouds columns cried CUMBERLAND dark dead dear death dream drum echoing eyes fall fathers fell fight fire flag flaming band Flower of Liberty FORCEYTHE WILLSON Freedom gallant gently gleam glory grave hand hear heart Heaven heroes Hurrah HYMN kiss land Lay him low light morning mother music of Union nation neath never night North Northmen o'er OLD FANEUIL HALL OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES patriot peace Pompey prayer rebel roar ROBERT LOWELL rose shame shore shout sighs sing slave sleep smile snow soldier song soul Star-Spangled Banner stars strike sweet sword tears Tennessee thee THEODORE TILTON THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH thou traitors true trumpet Varuna victory voice wave wife WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE winds wounded yonder
Pasaje populare
Pagina 224 - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.
Pagina 237 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.
Pagina 253 - THE word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts with flame. God said, I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more ; Up to my ear the morning brings The outrage of the poor.
Pagina 95 - Leaped up to his lips, — when low, murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken ; Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
Pagina 116 - WHAT flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from Heaven so freshly born? With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land : Oh tell us what its name may be, — Is this the Flower of Liberty?
Pagina 201 - Lay him low, lay him low In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? he cannot know : Lay him low...
Pagina 281 - THE flags of war like storm-birds fly, The charging trumpets blow; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature keeps Her ancient promise well, Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps The battle's breath of hell. And still she walks in golden hours Through harvest-happy farms, And still she wears her fruits and flowers Like jewels on her arms. What mean the gladness of the plain, This joy of eve and morn, The mirth that shakes the beard of grain And...
Pagina 96 - And I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse ; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.
Pagina 94 - There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed Far away in the cot on the mountain.
Pagina 335 - And the grandsire speaks in a whisper: " The end no man can see ; But we give him to his country, And we give our prayers to Thee." The violets star the meadows, The rose-buds fringe the door, And over the grassy orchard The pink-white blossoms pour. But the grandsire's chair is empty, The cottage is dark and still ; There's a nameless grave in the battle-field.