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1From A-wish apple-tree beautiful Bells of Lynn bird Bliss Carman bloom blow blue Bob-o'-link breath bright cardinal bird chee Copyright dark dead dear deep dey's dream dust earth Edward Rowland Sill Emily Dickinson eyes feet fire flowers give glad gleam gold golden grave gray green hath heart heaven HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW hills honey hour JOHN BANISTER TABB John Greenleaf JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER leaves life's light lips live look lyric Maryland moon morning never night we wake o'er pain Pioneers poems poet rain Ralph Waldo Emerson RICHARD HOVEY rose sail shadows shine silence sing sleep song soul sound spring stars summer sweet thee thine things THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH thou art thought tide trees voice wait WALT WHITMAN wandering waves wild William William Vaughn Moody wind wings woods youth
Page 164 - He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat; Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on.
Page 98 - While life's dark maze I tread, And griefs around me spread, Be Thou my guide ; Bid darkness turn to day, Wipe sorrow's tears away, Nor let me ever stray From Thee aside.
Page 105 - What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon ! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ; How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Page 226 - Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold...
Page 74 - OFTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear- old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still : " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Page 101 - Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
Page 110 - THE skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere, The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year ; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir: It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Page 31 - IF the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, , , They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Page 12 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.