Indian Legends and Other Poems

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Page 56 - The sunset glow, the moonlit stream, Part of my being are; The fairy flowers that bloom and die, The skies so clear and far : The stars that circle Night's dark brow, The winds and waters free, Each with a lesson all its own, Are monitors to me. The systems in their endless march Eternal truth proclaim ; The flowers God's love from day to day In gentlest accents name; The skies for burdened hearts and faint A code of Faith prepare; What tempest ever left the Heaven Without a blue spot there? My native...
Page 57 - Peeps from the sear leafs bed. I would no more of strife and tears Might on thee ever meet, But when against the tide of years This heart has ceased to beat, Where the green weeping-willows bend I fain would go to rest, Where waters chant, and winds may sweep Above my peaceful breast.
Page 55 - The spireless church stands, plain and brown, The winding road beside ; The green graves rise in silence near, With moss-grown tablets wide ; And early on the Sabbath morn, Along the flowery sod, Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, Go up to worship God. And dearer far than sculptured fane Is that gray church to me, For in its shade my mother sleeps, Beneath the willow-tree ; And often, when my heart is raised By sermon and by song, Her friendly smile appears to me From the seraphic throng.
Page 150 - Future's light, And the Present spreads before thee Boundless as the Infinite. But each passing hour must waken Energies that slumber now, Manhood with its fire and action Stamp that fair, unfurrowed brow. Into Life's sublime arena, Opening through the world's broad mart, Bear thy Mother's gentle spirit, And her kind and loving heart.
Page 56 - Qo up to worship God. And dearer far than sculptured fane Is that gray church to me, For in its shade my mother sleeps, Beneath the willow-tree ; And often when my heart is raised, By sermon and by song, Her friendly smile appears to me From the seraphic throng. The sunset glow, the moon-lit stream Part of my being are ; The fairy flowers that bloom and die, The skies so clear and far. The stars that circle Night's dark brow, The winds and waters free, Each with a lesson all its own Are monitors...
Page 92 - For the words of Milton are true in all times, and were never truer than in this : ' He, who would write heroic poems, must make his whole life a heroic poem.
Page 113 - You cannot leave me here alone, 0 let me die with you ! " The gentle tones were drowned by shrill And long-protracted cries ; The father on his darling gazed, The child looked on the skies. Anon, far up the cloudless blue, Unseen by mortal eye, God's angels with two spirits passed To purer realms on high. The one was touched with earthly hues, And dim with earthly care, The other, as a lily's cup, Unutterably fair. THE DYING YEAR. WITH dirge-like music, low, Sounds forth again the solemn harp of...
Page 149 - MO HORSFORD. BLESSINGS on thee, noble boy! With thy sunny eyes of blue, Speaking in their cloudless depths Of a spirit pure and true. In thy thoughtful look and calm, In thy forehead broad and high, We have seemed to meet again One whose home is in the sky. Thou to earth art still a stranger, To life's tumult and unrest ; An gel- visitants alone Stir the fountains in thy breast. Thou hast yet no Past to shadow With a fear thy Future's light, And the present spreads before thee Boundless as the infinite....
Page 118 - Give back the kindly words we loved so well, Voices, whose music on the spirit fell, But tenderness to pour; The steps that never now around us tread, Faces that haunt our sleep : give back, give back the dead. Give back! — who shall explore Creation's boundless realms to mark thy prey? Who mount where man has never thought to sway, Or science dared to soar ? Oh ! who shall tell what suns have set for aye, What worlds gone out, what systems passed away ? Not till the stars shall fall, And earth...
Page 31 - ... eye, And saw in the Northern-lights, flashing and red, The shades of his fathers, the dance of the dead. And scorning the works and abode of his foe, The pilgrim raised far from that valley of woe His dark, eagle gaze, to the sun-gilded west, Where the fair " Land of Shadows " lay viewless and blest. Again I beheld him where swift on its way Leaped the cataract, foaming, with thunder and spray, To the whirlpool below from the dark ledge on high, While the mist from its waters commixed with the...

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