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Alice Cary angels Anonymous beams beauty Ben Jonson beneath blessed blest bliss breast breath Breviary bright Byron Christ clouds Cowper cross crown dark death deeds deep divine dost doth dread dust earth earthly Eliza Cook eternal evermore fair faith fear flowers forever German glorious glory God's grace grave grief hand happy hath heart heaven heavenly hell Hemans holy hope hour human immortal J. G. Holland Jesus Joanna Baillie Kerle life's light live Longfellow Lord Lowell man's mercy Milton mind Montgomery morning mortal N. P. Willis nature's never night o'er pain peace Pollok praise prayer pure rest round sacred Saviour seraph Shakspeare shalt shine skies sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit star sweet tears tempest thee thine things Thomson thou art thought throne toil tomb truth virtue voice weary weep Whittier wings wisdom words Wordsworth Young
Page 44 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Page 76 - 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.
Page 116 - Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise. In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Page 49 - Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
Page 166 - It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well — Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Page 223 - The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Page 100 - Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, Are fresh and strong.
Page 286 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Page 44 - CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward.
Page 222 - He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and, though poor perhaps compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say —