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amid angels beauty beneath bird bless bosom bower Bradford County breast breath breeze bright brow charm cheek child clouds cold dark dear death deep doth dream drest earth evermore fair fair isle fear feel flowers fragrance gaze gentle glow grace Graham's Magazine grief hand happy harp hath heart heaven holy hope hour life's light lips live lone look lyre Massachusetts MEDEA melody morning mother mountain mourn ne'er neath never night o'er pale flowers pass'd peace Phronema poems poetry prayer pure rapture rest rill Robert Southey round seraph shade shed shining sigh sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit spring star stream summer sweet swell tears tempests tender Thaddeus Stevens thee Theseus thine thou art thought tree trembling unto Valley of Peace voice warm waves weary weep wild wind wing young youth
Page 16 - I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, If so much excellence abide below ; How excellent is He, that dwells on high ! Whose power and beauty by his works we know. Sure he is goodness, wisdome, glory, light, That hath this under world so richly dight : More heaven than earth was here no winter and no night.
Page 71 - Gifts and gold are nought to me : I would only look on thee ; Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling, Ecstasy but in revealing ; Paint to thee the deep sensation, Rapture in participation, Yet but torture, if comprest In a lone, unfriended breast. Absent still ? Ah, come and bless me ! Let these eyes again caress thee. Once, in caution, I could fly thee : Now I nothing could deny thee. In a look if death there be, Come, and I will gaze on thee ! " Southey declared this poem to be not only equal, but...
Page 383 - Droop not though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee ; Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee, Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee ; Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod. Work for some good, be it ever so slowly ; Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; Labor ! all labor is noble and holy ; Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God.
Page 95 - Go to thy rest, my child ! Go to thy dreamless bed, Gentle and undefiled, With blessings on thy head ; Fresh roses in thy hand, Buds on thy pillow laid, Haste from this fearful land, Where flowers so quickly fade.
Page 121 - There flies a bird to a neighbouring tree, But very lazily flieth he, And he sits and twitters a gentle note, That scarcely ruffles his little throat. You bid me be busy; but, mother, hear How the hum-drum grasshopper soundeth near, And the soft west wind is so light in its play, It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. I wish, oh, I wish I was yonder cloud, That sails about with its misty shroud; Books and work I no more should see, And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee.
Page 328 - Brother, come home ! Come home ! Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep ! Would I could wing it like a bird to thee, To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody, Brother, come home ! CATHERINE H.
Page 383 - Tis the still water faileth ; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth ; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory ! — the flying cloud lightens ; Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune...
Page 289 - When evening spreads her shades around, And darkness fills the arch of heaven; When not a murmur, not a sound, To Fancy's sportive ear is given ; When the broad orb of heaven is bright, And looks around with golden eye; When Nature, softened by her light, Seems calmly, solemnly to lie; Then, when our thoughts are raised above This world, and all this world can give: Oh, sister, sing the song I love, And tears of gratitude receive.
Page 15 - It is the Work of a Woman honoured and esteemed where she lives, for her gracious demeanour, her eminent parts, her pious conversation, her courteous disposition, her exact diligence in her place, and discreet managing of her family occasions ; and more then so, these Poems are the fruit but of some few houres, curtailed from her sleep, and other refreshments.