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beauty blue breast breath bright broken cold comes cried dark dead dear death deep died door Dora dream earth eyes face fair fear feel fell felt flowers give Gleam grace gray green grew hair hand happy head hear heard heart heaven hope hour Italy keep Kilmeny king knew land leaves light lived look Lord mind morn mother never night o'er once pass played poor prayer rest rose round seemed seen side sing sleep smile soft song soon soul sound spirits stars stood stream summer sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought thousand Till took tree turned voice wall wave wind wings wonder young youth
Seite 102 - UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Seite 45 - Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme: How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He Who bore in Heaven the second name Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; How His first followers and servants sped; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land; How he, who lone in' Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope 'springs...
Seite 47 - From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings ; ' An honest man 's the noblest work of God : ' And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness...
Seite 77 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Seite 185 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard. Then wore his monarch's signet ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne — a King ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird.
Seite 122 - And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,
Seite 46 - That thus they all shall meet in future days ; There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear ; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Seite 45 - His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare : .Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; And " Let us worship God ! " he says with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : Perhaps " Dundee's" wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive '
Seite 187 - Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires; Strike — for the green graves of your sires, God — and your native land!
Seite 181 - Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still...