Sartain's Union Magazine of Literature and Art, Volume 7 (Google eBook)

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Page 234 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay. That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters. Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
Page 124 - He that ruleth his spirit, is better than he that taketh a city,
Page 234 - Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Page 45 - Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land...
Page 335 - Ye therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye also, being led away with the error of the wicked, fall from your own stedfastness. But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
Page 235 - I know, I know I should not see The season's glorious show, Nor would its brightness shine for me, Nor its wild music flow ; But if, around my place of sleep, The friends I love should come to weep, They might not haste to go. Soft airs, and song, and light and bloom Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
Page 256 - The chestnut pattering to the ground: Calm and deep peace on this high wold, And on these dews that drench the furze, And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold: Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers, And crowded farms and lessening towers, To mingle with the bounding main...
Page 235 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain ; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh, my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers.
Page 236 - Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Page 238 - Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

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