Attention and Interest: A Study in Psychology and Education

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Macmillan, 1910 - 272 páginas

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Página 192 - We will return no more" ; And all at once they sang, "Our island home Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam.
Página 14 - Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the LORD.
Página 113 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Página 116 - ... to give me work. I then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where there was a printer ; and I was...
Página 213 - A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, The least of thy gazes or glances, (Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) One of thy choices or one of thy chances, (Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) — My Day, if I squander such...
Página 113 - mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, "When upward-springing, blythe, to greet, The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field Unseen, alane.
Página 113 - Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd: Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n To mis'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, He, ruin'd, sink!
Página 191 - Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use, As though to breathe were life.
Página 191 - Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this...

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