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Page 293 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Page 31 - THE FOUNTAIN. INTO the sunshine, Full of the light, Leaping and flashing From morn till night ! Into the moonlight, Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like When the winds blow ! Into the starlight Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight, Happy by day ! Ever in motion, Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward, Never aweary ; — Glad of all weathers, Still seeming best, Upward or downward, Motion thy rest ; — Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Changed every moment. Ever the same ; — Ceaseless...
Page 180 - For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along, Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong; Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame ; — In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.
Page 227 - How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book.
Page 297 - The leper raised not the gold from the dust: " Better to me the poor man's crust, Better the blessing of the poor, Though I turn me empty from his door...
Page 299 - Twas as if every image that mirrored lay In his depths serene through the summer day, Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, Lest the happy model should be lost, Had been mimicked in fairy masonry By the elfin builders of the frost.
Page 137 - No man is born into the world, whose work Is not born with him ; there is always work, And tools to work withal, for those who will; And blessed are the horny hands of toil I The busy world shoves angrily aside The man who stands with arms akimbo set.
Page 16 - Yet in herself she dwelleth not, Although no home were half so fair; No simplest duty is forgot, Life hath no dim and lowly spot That doth not in her sunshine share. She doeth little kindnesses, Which most leave undone, or despise: For naught that sets one heart at ease, And giveth happiness or peace, Is low-esteemed in her eyes.
Page 292 - Not only around our infancy Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, We Sinais climb and know it not. Over our manhood bend the skies ; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies ; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite; And to our age's drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.
Page 38 - Where is the true man's fatherland? Is It where he by chance is born? Doth not the yearning spirit scorn In such scant borders to be spanned? Oh yes! his fatherland must be As the blue heaven wide and free ! Is it alone where freedom is, Where God is God and man is man?