File:Library of the world's best literature, ancient and modern (1896) (14761209191).jpg

Identifier: worldsbestlitera28warn (find matches)
Title: Library of the world's best literature, ancient and modern
Year: 1896 (1890s)
Authors:
Subjects:
Publisher: N.Y.
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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—How at reverend Egypts feetPilgrims from all lands would meet! If the sudden news were known, That anigh the desert placeWhere once blossomed Babylon, Scions of a mighty raceStill survived, of giant build,— Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage,Whose ancestral fame had filled, Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age,—How at old Assyrias feetPilgrims from all lands would meet! Yet when Egypts self was young, And Assyrias bloom unworn,Ere the mythic Homer sung, Ere the gods of Greece were born,Lived the nation of one God, Priests of freedom, sons of Shem,Never quelled by yoke or rod, Founders of Jerusalem; —Is there one abides to-day ?Seeker of dead cities, say! Answer, now as then, they arc : Scattered broadcast oer the lands,Knit in spirit nigh and far. With indissoluble bands.Half the world adores their God, They the living law proclaim,And their guerdon is — the rod, Stripes and scourgings, death and shame: Still on Israels head forlorn, Every nation heaps its scorn. Emma Lazarus.
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MOSES Michael Anyefos Statue. \<iti,-,,,i, Rome SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS 16793 THE BURIAL OF MOSES By Nebos lonely mountain,On this side Jordans wave,In a vale in the land of Moab,There lies a lonely grave.And no man knows that sepulchre, And no man saw it eer;For the angels of God upturned the sod,And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth;But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth:Noiselessly as the daylight Comes back when the night is done,And the crimson streak on oceans cheek, Grows into the great sun; — Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves,And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves; —So without sound of music Or voice of them that wept,Silently down from the mountains crown The great procession swept. Perchance the bald old eagle On gray Beth-Peors height,Out of his lonely eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight;Perchance the lion stalking Still shuns that hallowed spot:For beast an

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