The Poems, Sacred, Passionate and Humorous

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Clark & Maynard, 1866 - 370 Seiten
 

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Seite 72 - Jesus therefore again groaning in himself cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it. Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh : for he hath been dead four days.
Seite 26 - and he forgot his curse, And rose and stood before him. Love and awe Mingled in the regard of Helen's eye As he beheld the stranger. He was not In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow The symbol of a princely lineage wore; No followers at his back, nor in his hand Buckler, or sword, or spear — yet in his mien Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled, A kingly condescension graced his lips, The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
Seite 47 - Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye. And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom!
Seite 73 - Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Seite 109 - Or, rising half in his rounded nest, He takes the time to smooth his breast ; Then drops again, with filmed eyes, And sleeps as the last vibration dies. Sweet bird ! I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd like thee ! With wings to fly to wood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; And daily, with unwilling feet, I tread, like thee, the crowded street ; But, unlike me, when day is o'er, Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar ; Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, Canst smooth the feathers...
Seite 128 - Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first, Though it should bid me stifle The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — " All— I would do it all Sooner than die like a dull worm, to rot, Thrust foully into earth to be forgot, Oh heavens ! But I appal Your heart, old man : forgive.
Seite 25 - And pass not thou between The weary traveller and the cooling breeze, And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees Where human tracks are seen; Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain, Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain. And now depart! and when Thy heart is heavy, and thine...
Seite 62 - God stay thee in thine agony, my boy ; I cannot see thee die ; I cannot brook Upon thy brow to look, And see death settle on my cradle joy. How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye ! And could I see thee die...
Seite 214 - My manliness hath drunk up tears ; And there's a mildew in the lapse Of a few miserable years : But nature's book is even yet With all my mother's lessons writ.
Seite 79 - ... And far below, seen under arching leaves, Glitters the warm sun on the village spire, Pointing the living after thee. And this Seems like a comfort ; and, replacing now The flowers that have made room for thee, I go To whisper the same peace to her who lies — Robb'd of her child, and lonely.

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