Verses of a Life Time (Google eBook)

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J. Munroe and Company, 1849 - American poetry - 263 pages
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Page 182 - Jesus, Master, it is good for us to be here: and let us make three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias: not knowing what he said. 34 While he thus spake, there came a cloud, and overshadowed them: and they feared as they entered into the cloud. 35 And there came a voice out of the cloud, saying, This is my beloved Son: hear him.
Page 184 - Is there an hour of peace and joy, When hope is all my soul's employ ? My Father ! still my hopes will roam, Until they rest with thee, their home. 4 The noontide blaze, the midnight scene, The dawn, or twilight's sweet serene, The glow of life, the dying hour, Shall own my Father's grace and power.
Page 162 - ... woods grow, To live and die. Space for the ocean, in its giant might, To swell and rave Space for the river, tinged with rosy light, Where green banks wave. Space for the sun to tread his path in might And golden pride Space for the glow-worm, calling, by her light, Love to her side. Then, pure and gentle ones, within your ark Securely rest ! Blue be the skies above, and your still bark By kind winds blest.
Page 233 - O, yes, mamma ! how very gay Its wings of starry gold ! And see ! it lightly flies away Beyond my gentle hold. O, mother, now I know full well, If God that worm can change, And draw it from this broken cell, On golden wings to range, How beautiful will brother be, When God shall give him wings, Above this dying world to flee, And live with heavenly things !
Page 232 - MOTHER, how still the baby lies ! I cannot hear his breath ; I cannot see his laughing eyes They tell me this is death. " My little work I thought to bring, And sat down by his bed, And pleasantly I tried to sing They hushed me he is dead. " They say that he again will rise, More beautiful than now ; That God will bless him in the skies O, mother, tell me how...
Page 148 - As the slow canal boat goes ; And I felt the pain of weariness, And sighed for home's repose ; And laughter seemed a mockery, And joy a fleeting breath, And life a dark volcanic crust That crumbles over death, But a strain of sweetest melody Arose upon my ear, The blessed sound of woman's voice, That Angels love to hear...
Page 95 - She spelt the lettered word, And her busy thoughts were stirred With pleasure as she read. She stopped and culled a leaf Left fluttering on a rose ; She stopped and culled a leaf, Sweet monument of grief, That in our churchyard grows. She culled it with a smile...
Page 27 - And he, infirm and feeble, scarce sustains His sinking weight. There was a pause, a hush So deep, that one could hear the forest leaves Flutter and drop between the war-gun's peal. Then forward stood that girl, young Mary Anna, The tear dried up upon her cheek, the sob Crushed down, and in that high and lofty tone Which sometimes breathes of woman in the child, She said, "He shall not die," and turned alone.
Page 140 - No footstep heard, save a few flitting guards Urging with vacant look their daily round; For in the precincts of each narrow cell, Hands, busiest once amid licentious crowds, Voices, that shouted loudest in the throng, Were now as calm, as erst the winds and waves, When Jesus said, Be still.
Page 25 - Stono, on thy still banks The roar of war is heard ; its thunders swell And shake yon mansion where domestic love Till now breathed simple kindness to the heart ; Where white-arm'd childhood twined the neck of age, Where hospitable cares lit up the hearth, Cheering the lonely traveller on his way. A foe inhabits there, and they depart, The infirm old man, and his fair household too, Seeking another home. Home ! Who can tell The touching power of that most sacred word, Save he who feels and weeps...

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