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Page 430 - Finish, then, Thy new creation; Pure and spotless let us be: Let us see Thy great salvation Perfectly restored in Thee; Changed from glory into glory, Till in heaven we take our place, Till we cast our crowns before Thee, Lost in wonder, love, and praise.
Page 410 - We piled with care our nightly stack Of wood against the chimney-back,— The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, And on its top the stout back-stick; The knotty forestick laid apart, And filled between with curious art The ragged brush; then hovering near, We watched the first red blaze appear, Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, Until the old, rude-furnished room Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom...
Page 230 - One day through the primeval wood a calf walked home as good calves should; but made a trail all bent askew, a crooked trail as all calves do. Since then three hundred years have fled, and I infer the calf is dead.
Page 22 - I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be ; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea.
Page 230 - This forest path became a lane, That bent and turned, and turned again; This crooked lane became a road, Where many a poor horse with his load Toiled on beneath the burning sun, And travelled some three miles in one. And thus a century and a half They trod the footsteps of that calf.
Page 230 - Since then two hundred years have fled, And, I infer, the calf is dead. But still he left behind his trail, And thereby hangs my moral tale. The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way; And then a wise bell-wether sheep Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep. And drew the flock...
Page 230 - And then a wise bellwether sheep Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep, And drew the flock behind him, too, As good bellwethers always do. And from that day o'er hill and glade, Through those old woods a path was made; And many men wound in and out, And dodged and turned and bent about, And uttered words of righteous wrath Because 'twas such a crooked path. But still they followed, do not laugh, The first migrations of that calf; And through this winding woodway stalked Because he wobbled when he...
Page 338 - WHY do we mourn departing friends, Or shake at death's alarms? 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends To call them to his arms.
Page 428 - FRIEND after friend departs : Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying, none were blest.