The Mother's Assistant and Young Lady's Friend, Bände 8-9

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David H. Ela, 1846
 

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Seite 48 - Work, work, work, In the dull December light, And work, work, work, When the weather Is warm and bright, While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring.
Seite 115 - The sober herd that low'd to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school...
Seite 19 - Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss ; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes.
Seite 97 - And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.
Seite 35 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Seite 32 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre...
Seite 96 - For behold, the days are coming, in the which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck. Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the hills, Cover us.
Seite 64 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
Seite 33 - Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, So thou, with sails how swift, hast reached the shore 'Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,' And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
Seite 32 - But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage And froze the genial current of the soul.

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