Religious Poems

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C. E. Alexander
White, Stokes, & Allen, 1886 - Religious poetry, English - 335 pages
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Page 208 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead...
Page 86 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; . And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page 200 - I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such? — It was — where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Page 126 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright — The bridal of the earth and sky! The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its 'grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Page 158 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
Page 270 - THOU art, O God ! the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Page 108 - O ! th" exceeding grace Of highest God that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed Angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe ! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant ! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us...
Page 179 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Page 158 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Page 268 - Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets, in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.

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