Selections from the Christian Poets, Ancient and Modern

Front Cover
Seeleye, 1851 - Christian poetry, English - 431 pages
0 Reviews
 

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 343 - Friend after friend departs ; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end.
Page 50 - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on Kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 265 - ONE there is, above all others, Well deserves the name of Friend; His is love beyond a brother's, Costly, free, and knows no end: They who once His kindness prove, Find it everlasting love.
Page 225 - FOR a closer walk with God ! A calm and heavenly frame ! A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb...
Page 353 - GO to dark Gethsemane, Ye that feel the tempter's power, Your Redeemer's conflict see, Watch with him one bitter hour ; Turn not from his griefs away, Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.
Page 322 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set - but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Page 355 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Page 236 - E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming Love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. 5 Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave.
Page 292 - 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.
Page 64 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?

Bibliographic information