" I never knew before what beds, Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch, The forest sifts and shapes and spreads; I never knew before how much Of human sound there is in such Low tones as through the forest sweep, When all wild things lie "down to sleep.

Prepare and dry the herbs by recipe No. 445; pick the leaves from the stalks, pound them, and sift them through a hair-sieve; mix in the above proportions, and keep in glass bottles, carefully excluding the air.

Sift these through a fine sieve, and mix them into a paste with water.

You see, on a voyage like thiswell, talk goes on, things get about, things are said aloud that shouldn't be and get overheard and passed along; and the man who sits back and listens and sifts what he hears is pretty likely to get a tolerably good line on what's what.

The cap-and-bells element is largely represented in Chapman's select company of German-American talent: the confetti of foolishness is thrown at uswe dodge, laugh, listen and no one has time to think, weigh, sift or analyze.

Pearl powder, lavishly used, is not becoming, especially when it sifts into multitudes of fine lines; nor can powder or anything else brighten a dull, yellowing skin which in health would still be delicately clear and firm.

He did not sift evidence like Grote, nor generalize like Gibbon; but like Voltaire and Macaulay, he was an artist in style, and possessed undoubted genius.

Well, we shall sift him.

[In the centre of her-web which now sifts the gold dust of a sunbeam.] Spider at morn, Cometh to warn!

No burly bee with banded suit Here dusts him, no full ray by stealth Sifts through it stained with warmer wealth Where fair fierce butterflies salute.

It rested on its apex (base uppermost), and was filled with fragments of half incinerated human bones, mingled with dark-colored dust, and the sand which invariably sifts into crania under such circumstances.

There is a fine discrimination in the Divine love which sifts and sorts men's needs, and applies itself to them one by one, just as the need may be.

The wind is roaring outside, and even blows through the rude hall in great, gusty draughts, while a fine powder of snow sifts in through crevices of windows and door.

It begins in sustained reflection and in the thought which accumulates images and sifts them, garners and winnows them out, and compels life to keep control over imagination, and imagination to expand and enlarge life.

This kind of mind may have much understanding, but is a bad guide through life; it darts restlessly here and there, hesitates, sifts, and filters every intention, and at last loses itself among cross-roads.

The snow sifts through my door and window until I have a regular snowbank all along the inside of the house.

Now the whole problem sifts finally down to this one question: Is the assumption made by Lord Roberts and implied by Mr. Churchill concerning the relation of military force to trade and national life well founded?

Watch how the flesh Grows crisp and hangs till, turned to ash, it sifts Down through the coils of chain that hold erect The ghastly frame against the bark-scorched tree.

Half-Rome, the Other Half-Rome, the Tertium Quid, which is perhaps most masterly and finished of the three, show us how ill truth sifts itself, to how many it never comes at all, how blurred, confused, next door to false, it is figured even to those who seize it by the hem of the garment.

At last our grating keels outslide, Our good boats forward swing; And while we ride the land-locked tide, Our negroes row and sing. For dear the bondman holds his gifts Of music and of song: The gold that kindly Nature sifts

"See how it sifts the sunlight to take the warmth out of it," the teacher continued.

"Dear, the black man holds his gifts Of music and of song, The gold that kindly nature sifts

Her eyes are of jade, and so fine is the powdered sand she sifts from her tapering fingers it turns the air to an amber haze; so potent its magic spell, it fascinates and enthralls, while it repels.

It sifts from leaden sieves, It powders all the wood, It fills with alabaster wool The wrinkles of the road.

Now pipes the bitter wind for her, 5 And the snow sifts about her door, While far below her frosty hill The racing billows plunge and boom.