Poems

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Democrat printing & lithographing Company, 1922 - American poetry - 468 pages
 

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Page 358 - There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in the ground...
Page 377 - Where the sunshine fades in the West away? Is it only the tip of the mountain crest, Where the lingering rays of the sunlight rest; And where, through the mists of the Past are seen The ghosts of the joys that once have been ; While down in the valley, far below, Lie the graves of the things of Long Ago? Nay, nay. Not that. For he who holds By the simple faith that the World enfolds, Finds, unto Life's last, feeblest spark, That the daylight far exceeds the dark ; That the Seasons bring, as they...
Page 208 - Opportunity has hair in front, behind she is bald ; if you seize her by the forelock you may hold her, but if suffered to escape, not Jupiter himself can catch her again/
Page 378 - ... sixty years ! Gone; and forever. Beyond recall, Each deed of itself to stand or fall, In the eyes of Him who judgeth all. But yet we cling to the firmer hope, That each will be seen in its wider scope ; And out of His mercy we be hailed With large allowance where we failed. As the day dies out with a golden gleam, And the red West glows with its parting beam, So would I, friends, when it comes my lot, Wish to depart thus calmly, and not As the Old Year passes, sad and slow, Wrapped in the shroud...
Page 378 - O'er the faded days that behind me lie, How like a flitting glimpse appears, The vista made by these sixty years! Gone; and forever. Beyond recall. Each deed of itself to stand or fall, In the eyes of Him who judgeth all. But yet we cling to the firmer hope, That each will be seen in its wider scope ; And out of His mercy we be hailed With large allowance where we failed. As the day dies out with a golden gleam, And the red West glows with its parting beam, So would I, friends, when it comes my lot,...
Page 354 - A SOUTHLAND SONG One of Mr. Hempstead's smoothest songs is the following patriotic outburst: 0 land for which our Fathers died, Land dearer than all else beside; Thy praise shall men forever sing, Where Fame and Truth their tribute bring. Thy fate be mine. What-e'er betide 1 with thee evermore abide. Clime of the South, o'er land and sea My heart is thine where-e'er I be. Fair are thy vales; and sweetest flowers Bedeck with wealth thy forest bowers. Here blandly smile the days among The gifts by...
Page 441 - And through the years that His realm hath stood, He preached the creed of Doing Good. MO Alas, that in this latest day, Its highest good is shorn away, And all the gentle grace it had, By frenzied Rulers, battle-mad. Courage yet, O drooping heart: Rise up and fill a stronger part. God's finger-prints are clearly seen, Laid here and there in wrath between. He will not suffer Wrong to be Forever in ascendency : But doth to each transgressor say: "Vengeance is mine ; I will repay.
Page 169 - ... Dug from mines as dark as night." "Sits my land in splendid plenty," Said the elector from the Rhine, "Golden grains within the valleys: On the mountains noble wine." "Crowded cities, wealthy cloisters," Louis of Bavaria claimed, "Make my land a state as worthy As the best that you have named." Everard, the flowing-bearded, Wurtemberg's beloved lord, Said "My land has only hamlets: Does no silver-mine afford— "But its people are such treasures That in forests, wild and dread, In the lap of...
Page 465 - ... participated in the murder of a party of some 150 emigrants, mostly from Arkansas, in Utah in 1857. As the law of that State allowed a criminal to choose between being hung or shot for a capital offense, Lee chose the latter end, and accordingly was led to the place where the tragedy occurred and, seated in his coffin, was shot to death by a volley of musketry from a platoon of guards; but he did not pay this penalty until after a long delay incident to many governmental investigations. Mr. Hempstead...
Page 153 - THE DEPARTED YEAR Old year, old year, that liest here So cold and stark upon thy bier; I fold thy hands upon thy breast. And pray for thee unbroken rest. Gone, gone — yea gone! Thy breath withdrawn. Yet ere the rising of the dawn, Like fickle courtiers, do we sing; "The king is dead! Long live the king!

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