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autumn beam beautiful beneath bird bloom blue break breast breath bright brow child close clouds comes dark dead death deep dreams dwell earth eternal face fair fall fear feel flashed flow flowers friends gaze gentle glorious glory golden gone grave green hand hath hear heart heaven hills hope hour leaves light living lone look lost memory morning mother mountain nature never night o'er o’er passed play pure rest rise rock rolled rose round scene seemed shade shadows shore sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spread spring stars storm stream summer sweet swells tears tell thee thine things Thou art thoughts tone tree turn voice watch waters waves weary wild winds wings woods young youthful
Page 192 - The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the pine tree and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and 1 will make the place of my feet
Page 179 - in this crowded air; I sometimes dream Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. Come then, ever, when daylight leaves The page I read, to my humble eaves, And wash thy breast in the hollow spout, And murmur thy low sweet music out! I hear and see Lessons of Heaven, sweet bird, in thee!
Page 60 - have quenched Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night Rest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reach This distant planet. Messengers still come Laden with your far fire, and we may seem To see your lights still burning; while their blaze But hides the black wreck of extinguished realms, Where anarchy and darkness long have reigned.
Page 181 - I gaze above—thy look is imaged there, I listen—and thy gentle tone Is on the air. Oh come, while here I press My brow upon thy grave—and, in those mild And thrilling tones of tenderness, Bless, bless thy child! Yes, bless thy weeping child, And o'er thine urn—religion's holiest shrine— Oh give his spirit
Page 95 - HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. I have read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Page 112 - of life shall sever. Remnant of days departed long, Emblem of plighted troth unbroken, Pledge of devoted faithfulness, Of heartfelt, holy love, the token— What varied feelings round it cling! For these, I like that ancient ring. THE MOON UPON THE SPIRE BY HANNAH F. GOULD. The full-orbed moon
Page 242 - How great are his signs, and how mighty are his wonders; His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and his dominion is from generation to generation."—Daniel.
Page 47 - Yes, dear one, to the envied train Of those around thy homage pay; But wilt thou never kindly deign To think of him that's far away ? Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile, For many years I may not see; But wilt thou not sometimes the while, My sister dear, remember me
Page 233 - tis but the streak Of whirling snow;—the tempest's shriek— No human aid is near; Never again that form will meet Thy clasped embrace—those accents sweet Speak music to thine ear. Morn broke ;—away the clouds were chased, The sky was pure and bright, And on its blue, the branches traced
Page 255 - Caught'st thou thy carol from Ottawa maid, Where, through the liquid fields of wild-rice plashing, Brushing the ears from off the burdened blade, Her birch canoe o'er some lone lake is flashing! Or did the reeds of some savannah south Detain thee, while thy northern flight pursuing, To place those melodies in thy sweet mouth,