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Pagina 68 - The armaments which thunder-strike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war : These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Pagina 205 - Join voices, all ye living Souls : Ye Birds, That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ; Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still To give us only good ; and if the night Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light...
Pagina 50 - Hark, they whisper ; angels say, " Sister spirit, come away ! " What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my...
Pagina 324 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
Pagina 350 - Mine is an unchanging love, higher than the heights above, deeper than the depths beneath, free and faithful, strong as death. 5 'Thou shalt see my glory soon, when the work of grace is done ; partner of my throne shalt be : say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?
Pagina 204 - Rising or falling still advance his praise. His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant in sign of worship wave.
Pagina 65 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high.
Pagina 82 - Waft, waft, ye winds, His story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole ; Till o'er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign ! 727 Psalm 60.
Pagina 7 - I heard the bell tolled 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 ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.