Poems of men and events

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E.F. Bonaventure, 1899 - 328 pages
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Page 235 - twill please. He raised three hundred dollars there, besides the marriage fees. What ! tears from us who preached the word these thirty years or so ? Two years on barren Chincoteague, and two in Tuckahoe? " The schools are good, the brethren say, and our Church holds the wheel ; The Presbyterians lost their house ; the Baptists lost their zeal. The parsonage is clean and dry ; the town has friendly folk, — Not half so dull as Murderkill, nor proud like Pocomoke.
Page 103 - Still his faith in human nature lived without discouragement ; For his country, which could raise him, barefoot, to the monarch's height, Could he mock her, or his mother, though her name she could not write? Deep the wells of humble childhood, cool the spring beside the hut — Millions more as poor as Lincoln see the door he has not shut. Not till wealth has made its canker every poor white's cabin through, Shall the Great Republic wither or the infidel subdue. Stand around your great Commander...
Page 301 - ... bear, with my thrilled soul astir, And lonely thoughts and fears, And am but History's courier To bind the conquering years ; A battle-ray, through ages gray To light to deeds sublime, And flash the lustre of this day Down all the aisles of Time ! Ho ! pony...
Page 300 - Advance ! The fight,— How goes it, say ? " — " We won the day ! " — "Huzza! Pass on !"—" Good-night !"— And parts the darkness on before, And down the mire we tramp, And the black sky is painted o'er With many a pulsing camp; O'er stumps and ruts, by ruined huts, Where ghosts look through the gloam, — Behind my tread I hear the dead Follow the news toward home...
Page 306 - ... cloistral architecture, all offered within ready reach of Xew York and Philadelphia, Princeton should have been becoming increasingly popular as a place of residence and retirement for people who find they can live where they will. To quote Townsend again : When we have raged our little part, And wearied out of strife and art, Oh. could we bring to these still shores The peace they have who harbor here, And rest upon our echoing oars. And float adown this tranquil sphere — Not all the seekers...
Page 234 - HIS thin wife's cheek grows pinched and pale with anxiousness intense ; He sees the brethren's prayerful eyes o'er all the Conference ; He hears the Bishop slowly call the long " Appointment " rolls, Where, in his vineyard, God would place these gatherers of souls. Apart, austere, the knot of grim Presiding Elders sit ; He wonders if some city " Charge " may not for him have writ ; Certes, could they his sermon hear on Paul and Luke awreck, Then had his talent ne'er been hid on...
Page 234 - rolls. Where in His vineyard God would place these gatherers of souls. Apart, austere, the knot of grim Presiding Elders sit ; He wonders if some city" Charge" may not for him have writ ? Certes ! could they his sermon hear on Paul and Luke awreck. Then had his talent ne'er been hid on Annomessix Neck ! Poor rugged heart, be still a pause, and you, worn wife, be meek ! Two years of banishment they read far down the Chesapeake ! Though Brother Bates, less eloquent, by Wilmington is wooed, The Lord...
Page 237 - No cooing dove of storms afeard, she shared my life's distress, A singing Miriam, alway, in God's poor wilderness ; The wretched at her footstep smiled, the frivolous were still ; A bright path marked her pilgrimage, from Blackbird to Snowhill. " A new face in the parsonage, at church a double pride ! — Like the Madonna and her babe they filled the
Page 237 - My cloth drew close ; too fruitful love my fruitless life outran ; The townfolk marvelled, when we moved, at such a caravan ! I wonder not my lads grew wild, when, bright, without the door Spread the ripe, luring, wanton world — and we, within, so poor ! " For, down the silent cypress aisles came shapes even me to scout, Mocking the lean flanks of my mare, my boy's patched roundabout, And saying : ' Have these starveling boors, thy congregation, souls, That on their dull heads Heaven and thou pour...
Page 299 - Ho ! pony. Down the lonely road Strike now your cheeriest pace ! The woods on fire do not burn higher Than burns my anxious face ; Far have you sped, but all this night Must feel my nervous spur ; If we be late, the world must wait The tidings we aver : — To home and hamlet, town and hearth, To thrill child, mother, man, I carry to the waiting North Great news from Sheridan...

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