Sacred Poems

Clark, Austin, 1850 - 126 Seiten

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Seite 31 - The king stood still Till the last echo died ; then, throwing off The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe...
Seite 30 - But, oh! for Absalom — For his estranged, misguided Absalom — The proud, bright being, who had burst away, In all his princely beauty, to defy The heart that cherished him — for him he poured, In agony that would not be controlled, Strong supplication, and forgave him there, Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.
Seite 32 - Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ; And thy dark sin — oh ! I could drink the cup If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom...
Seite 89 - I love to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play. And persuade myself that I am not old And my locks are not yet gray ; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye.
Seite 88 - I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet; And I often watch him as he springs, Circling the steeple with easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has passed, And the belfry edge is gained at last.
Seite 106 - 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 90 - I am willing to die when my time shall come, And I shall be glad to go ; For the world, at best, is a weary place, And my pulse is getting low : But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail In treading its gloomy way ; And it wiles my heart from its dreariness, To see the young so gay.
Seite 217 - BRIGHT be the skies that cover thee, Child of the sunny brow — Bright as the dream flung over thee By all that meets thee now. Thy heart is beating joyously, Thy voice is like a bird's, And sweetly breaks the melody Of thy imperfect words. I know no fount that gushes out As gladly as thy tiny shout. I would that thou might'st ever be As beautiful as now, — That Time might ever leave as free Thy yet unwritten brow, — I would life were
Seite 188 - The shadows lay along Broadway, 'Twas near the twilight-tide — And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Alone walked she ; but, viewlessly, Walked spirits at her side. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, And Honor charmed the air ; And all astir looked kind on her, And called her good as fair — For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers...
Seite 105 - So — let him writhe ! How long Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now ! What a fine agony works upon his brow ! Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong...

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