Collected Poems

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P. J. Kenedy & sons, 1915 - American poetry - 261 pages
 

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Page 88 - O CRUEL manger, how bleak, how bleak! For the limbs of the Babe, my God; Soft little limbs on the cold, cold straw; Weep, O eyes, for thy God! Bitter ye winds in the frosty night Upon the Babe, my God, Piercing the torn and broken thatch; Lament, O heart, for thy God! Bare is the floor, how bare, how bare For the Babe's sweet mother, my God; Only a stable for mother and Babe; How cruel thy world, my God! Cast out, cast out, by his brother men Unknown the Babe, my God; The ox and the ass alone are...
Page 89 - That stretch for thy mother, my God; Soft baby eyes to the mother's eyes; Melt, O heart, for thy God! Waxen touches on mother's heart, Fingers of the Babe, my God; The shepherds have come from the hills to adore The Babe in the manger, my God; Mary and Joseph welcome them there; Worship, O soul, thy .God! But I alone may not come near The Babe in the manger, my God; Weep for thy sins, O heart, and plead With Mary the mother of God. May I not come, oh, just to the door, To see the Babe, my God; There...
Page 89 - God ! WaXen touches on mother's heart, Fingers of the Babe, my God ; Dear baby lips to her virgin breast, The virgin mother of God. The shepherds have come from the hills to adore The Babe in the manger, my God ; Mary and Joseph welcome them there; Worship, O soul, thy God! But I alone may not come near The Babe in the manger, my God; Weep for thy sins, O heart, and plead With Mary, the mother of God. May I not come, oh, just to the door, To see the Babe, my God; There will I stop, and kneel and...
Page 84 - ... world's fair hope, Set with stars from the azure cope, When liberty was young, And yet unsung Clarioned her voice among The trodden peoples, and stirred The pulses with her word, Till the swift flood red From the quick heart sped, Flushing valour's cheek with flame At sounding of her august sacred name! Lift up the banner of the stars, The standard of the double bars, Red with the holy tide Of heroes...
Page 1 - For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, and she showeth herself to them cheerfully in the ways and meeteth them with all providence.
Page 92 - Not in the blurred and vulgar mind Does love its hallowed image find, But in itself divinest kind. And rooted thus in single good, Scatters the blessings of its mood, And blossoms unto brotherhood. THE BURDEN Let night shut out the cares of day, Blot out the sense of wrong, And in the bath of slumber steep The soul, till it grow strong. Then, waking with the coming light, Arise, and go thy way, Leaving the burden to the night That bent thee yesterday. HOW POETS PLAY How do poets play?
Page 94 - Best on the lower bough, Whose wings are frail, Nor seek the riotous tops Lashed by the gale. Let not ambition tempt To flutter where The eagle's iron wing May scarcely dare. All native to the sward And leafy shade, Thy slender treble fills The quiet glade. But in the upper gale Thy little sound Were like a rose-leaf reft And blown around, Or in the solitude Of height on height, The flickering of a spark Within the light.
Page 86 - ... the banner blue As heaven, and as true In constancy! Lift up the banner white As sea foam in the light Of liberty; The banner of the triple hue, The banner of the red and white and blue, Bright ensign of the free! Lift up the banner of the days to come, When cease the trumpet and the rolling drum; When peace in the nest of love Unfolds the wings of the dove, Brooding o'er the days to-be, Peace born of freedom's might, Peace sprung from the power of right, The peace of liberty! Lift up the flag...
Page 33 - ... Face. IV She looks with human eyes Into the eyes of Paradise; Upon her virgin breast the Babe Divine Gazes again into her eyne; O vanity of words to tell The wonder of that spell, The ravishment of bliss Upwelling from the deep abyss Of Love incarnate gazing in the eyes Of his terrestrial paradise! Gathered against all harms, Innocence by innocence addrest, Virgin love by virgin love carest, The sinless mother and the sinless Son For Heaven and earth to gaze upon! Her living image on her knee,...
Page 112 - For risen is our Christ, and with Him we; And prostrate thou beside His open grave, O Ancient Victor, in thy first defeat And everlasting ! Smiling now we see Thou art but shadow with a broken glaive, Within thy futile hands His winding-sheet.

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