Single Famous Poems

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Rossiter Johnson
H. Holt, 1877 - 285 Seiten
 

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Seite 99 - Mysterious Night ! when our first Parent knew Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue? Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the host of heaven came; And, lo! Creation widened in man's view.
Seite 197 - THE muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo ; No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents are spread, And glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead.
Seite 115 - HOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew...
Seite 138 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers.
Seite 10 - FAIR stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry.
Seite 199 - Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me; Still all my song shall be. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
Seite 83 - twill cost a sigh, a tear ; — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time ; Say not Good Night...
Seite 103 - Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming. Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Seite 56 - In every village mark'd with little spire, Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to fame, There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire, A matron old, whom we Schoolmistress name...
Seite 250 - Perchance the bald old eagle. On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie, Looked on the wondrous sight. Perchance the lion stalking Still shuns the hallowed spot; For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not, But when the warrior dieth.

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