Modern Scottish Poets: With Biographical and Critical Notices, Volume 11

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D. H. Edwards, 1888 - English poetry
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Page 161 - Tempt not my soul away ; Jesus is mine : Here would I ever stay ; Jesus is mine : Perishing things of clay Born but for one brief day, Pass from my heart away ; Jesus is mine.
Page 26 - INFANTIUM IN praise of little children I will say God first made man, then found a better way For woman, but his third way was the best. Of all created things, the loveliest And most divine are children. Nothing here Can be to us more gracious or more dear. And though, when God saw all his works were good, There was no rosy flower of babyhood, 'Twas said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they.
Page 26 - ... us more gracious or more dear. And though, when God saw all his works were good, There was no rosy flower of babyhood, 'Twas said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they. The earth, which feels the flowering of a thorn, Was glad, O little child, when you were born; The earth, which thrills when skylarks scale the blue, Soared up itself to God's own Heaven in you; And Heaven, which loves to lean down and to glass Its beauty in each dewdrop on the grass, — Heaven...
Page xv - Aurora Australis : or specimens of Sacred Poetry for the Colonists of Australia.
Page 161 - Fare ye well, dreams of night, Jesus is mine ; Mine is a dawning bright, Jesus is mine ; All that my soul has tried Left but a dismal void, Jesus has satisfied, Jesus is mine. Farewell mortality, Jesus is mine ; Welcome eternity, Jesus is mine ; Welcome ye scenes of rest, Welcome ye mansions blest, Welcome a Saviour's breast, Jesus is mine.
Page 69 - She was eight, this little maiden, and her life had all been spent In the garret and the alley, where they starved to pay the rent; Where a drunken father's curses and a drunken mother's blows Drove her forth into the gutter from the day's dawn to its close. But she knew enough, this outcast, just to tell the sinking boy, "You must die before you're able all these blessings to enjoy. You must die...
Page 289 - THE E'EN BRINGS A' HAME UPON the hills the wind is sharp and cold, The sweet young grasses wither on the wold, And we, O Lord, have wandered from Thy fold ; But evening brings us home. Among the mists we stumbled and the rocks Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox Watches the straggler from the scattered flocks ; But evening brings us home. The sharp thorns prick us, and our tender feet Are cut and bleeding, and the lambs repeat Their pitiful complaints, — oh, rest is sweet When evening brings...
Page 290 - Their pitiful complaints, — oh, rest is sweet, When evening brings us home. We have been wounded by the hunter's darts. Our eyes are very heavy, and our hearts Search for Thy coming, — when the light departs At evening, bring us home. The darkness gathers.
Page 71 - Lo ! that night from out the alley did a child's soul pass away, From dirt and sin and misery to where God's children play. Lo ! that night a wild, fierce snow-storm burst in fury o'er the land, And at morn they found Nell frozen, with the red rose in her hand.
Page 394 - ... until he was ten years of age, when he was sent to herd cows at Mylnefield, by the side of the Tay, in which he often "dooket

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