Voices of the Night (Google eBook)

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J. Owen, 1840 - American poetry - 144 pages
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Page 16 - And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
Page 5 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 8 - 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 44 - ... If the vanquished warrior bow, Spare him ! By our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared ! " Take thy banner ! and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for thee.
Page 27 - And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain, And patter their doleful prayers ; But their prayers are all in vain, All in vain...
Page 50 - Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, Groves, through whose broken roof...
Page 25 - And, when the solemn and deep church-bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead.
Page 7 - Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to...
Page 24 - Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled ; Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul.
Page 3 - Stoop o er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes.

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