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Seite 37 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Seite 87 - THE harp at Nature's advent strung Has never ceased to play ; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away. And prayer is made, and praise is given, By all things near and far ; The ocean looketh up to heaven, And mirrors every star. Its waves are kneeling on the strand, As kneels the human knee, Their white locks bowing to the sand, The priesthood of the sea...
Seite 148 - Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on! Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene, — one step enough for me.
Seite 143 - And he could there do no mighty work, save that he laid his hands upon a few sick folk, and healed them. 6 And he marvelled because of their unbelief.
Seite 245 - Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshippers.
Seite 61 - But let its humbled sons, instead, From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead, In sadness make. Of all we loved and honored, naught Save power remains, — A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains. All else is gone : from those great eyes The soul has fled : When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead! Then, pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame ; Walk backward, with averted gaze, And hide the shame ! fire THE CHRISTIAN TOURISTS.
Seite 3 - ... do thou With courtesy receive him ; rise and bow ; And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave Permission first his heavenly feet to lave ; Then lay before him all thou hast; allow No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, Or mar thy hospitality ; no wave Of mortal tumult to obliterate The soul's...
Seite 288 - He lends not ; but gives to the end, As He loves to the end. If it seem That He draws back a gift, comprehend 'Tis to add to it rather — amend, And finish it up to your dream...
Seite 200 - Twere imbecile hewing out roads to a wall ; And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done If we have not a son? Ah! ah! ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then ? When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport Of the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men, When the guns of Cavalli with final retort, Have cut the game short.