The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

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Lippincott, 1881 - Poetry - 670 pages

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Page 401 - THOU art, O God, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee : Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine.
Page 417 - Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, Be mingled in peace.
Page 61 - Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years — One minute of heaven is worth them all...
Page 403 - And He will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all people, and the veil that is spread over all nations. He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of His people shall He take away from off all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it.
Page 401 - DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR. (AiR. — HAYDN.) •' He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds." — Psalm cxlvii. 3. OH Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear. How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee. The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone.
Page 445 - Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee !" The minstrel fell ! but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ! The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords...
Page 134 - WHO has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave , * Its temples, and grottos , and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?
Page 401 - Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord ! His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword. Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah hath triumphed, — His people are free ! THOMAS MOORE.
Page 423 - Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days In the wave beneath him shining...
Page 64 - Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause...

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