Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 4 · column 2 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
But seeing them to mind again The lost and absent brings.
The friends I left that parting day, How changed, as time has sped! Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray; And half of all are dead.
I hear the loved survivors tell How nought from death could save, Till every sound appears a knell And every spot a grave.
I range the fields with pensive tread, And pace the hollow rooms, And feel (companion of the dead) I’m living in the tombs.
—Abraham Lincoln
WASHINGTON’S BIRTHDAY Pale is the February sky, And brief the mid-day’s sunny hours; The wind-swept forest seems to sigh For the sweet time of leaves and flowers.
Yet even when the summer broods O’er meadows in their fresh array, Or autumn tints her glowing woods, No month can boast a prouder day.
For this chill season now again Brings, in its annual round, the mom When, greatest of the sons of men, Our glorious Washington was bom.
Lo, where, beneath an icy shield, Calmly the mighty Hudson flows, By snow-clad fell and frozen field Broadening the lordly river goes.
The wildest storm that sweeps through space And rends the oak with sudden force, Can raise no ripple on his face Or slacken his majestic course.
Thus, mid the wreck of thrones, shall live Unmarred, undimmed, our hero’s fame, And years succeeding years shall give Increase of honors to his name.
—William Cullen Bryant
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