Lyra sacra Americana: or, Gems from American sacred poetry, selected, with notes, by C.D. Cleveland (Google eBook)

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Page 146 - I have naught that is fair ?" saith he ; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Page 143 - ALL are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
Page 166 - It was no path of flowers, Through this dark world of ours, Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread ; And shall we in dismay Shrink from the narrow way, When clouds and darkness are around it spread?
Page 97 - Through storm and night : When the wild tempests rave, Ruler of wind and wave, Do thou our country save By thy great might ! 2 For her our prayer shall rise To God, above the skies ; On him we wait: Thou who art ever nigh, Guarding with watchful eye, To thee aloud we cry, God save the State ! John a.
Page 148 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead, the child of our affection, But gone unto 'that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ Himself doth rule.
Page 96 - Stand up, stand up for Jesus ! The strife will not be long ; This day the noise of battle, The next the victor's song : To him that overcometh, A crown of life shall be ; He with the king of glory Shall reign eternally.
Page 145 - In the world's broad field of battle. In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!
Page 99 - I LOVE Thy kingdom, Lord, The house of Thine abode, The Church our blest Redeemer saved With His own precious blood. 2. I love Thy church, O God ! Her walls before Thee stand, Dear as the apple of Thine eye, And graven on Thy hand.
Page 292 - Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know, Shalt bless the earth while in the world above ; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow ; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.
Page 222 - Still through the cloven skies they come, With peaceful wings unfurled, And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world ; Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing, And ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing.

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