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" In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,... "
A Compendium of English Literature: Chronologically Arranged, from Sir John ... - Page 380
by Charles Dexter Cleveland - 1862 - 776 pages
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The Metropolitan, Volume 56

English literature - 1849
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and...
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Orthopony; Or the Cultivation of the Voice, in Elocution: A Manual of ...

William Russell - 1849
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and...
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GEMS OF POETRY, FROM FORTY-EIGHT AMERICAN POETS.

1850
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and...
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Class Book of Prose and Poetry: Consisting of Selections from the Best ...

Truman Rickard, Hiram Orcutt - English language - 1850 - 120 pages
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, 45 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 50 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the...
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The Last Enemy: Conquering and Conquered

George Burgess - Death - 1850 - 326 pages
...population in all the past ; and the mind will grasp the superior number of the dead beyond the living. " All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." The surface of the earth, so far as it is dry land, is estimated at nearly forty millions of square...
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The Last Enemy: Conquering and Conquered

George Burgess - Death - 1850 - 326 pages
...population in all the past; and the mind will grasp the superior number of the dead beyond the living. " All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." The surface of the earth, so far as it is dry land, is estimated at nearly forty millions of square...
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THE LAST ENEMY; CONQUERING AND CONQUERED.

GEORGE BURGESS, D.D. - 1850
...population in all the past ; and the mind will grasp the superior number of the dead beyond the living. "All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." The surface of the earth, so far as it is dry land, is estimated at nearly forty millions of square...
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The Fourth Reader, Or Exercises in Reading and Speaking Designed for the ...

Salem Town - Readers - 1851 - 408 pages
...great tomb of man. 6. ^, The golden The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon,' and...
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The National Speaker: Containing Exercises, Original and Selected, in Prose ...

Henry Bartlett Maglathlin - 1851
...great tomb of man ! The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears...
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Poems

William Cullen Bryant - American poetry - 1851 - 371 pages
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. -J-Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, • Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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