Gathered Lilies; Or, Little Children in Heaven

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Gould and Lincoln, 1860 - Children - 59 pages
 

Contents

V
23
VII
32

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Page 41 - TwAs a lovely thought to mark the hours, As they floated in light away, By the opening and the folding flowers, That laugh to the summer's day.
Page 12 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page 49 - Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither (shall) fruit (be) in the vines; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and (there shall be) no herd in the stalls: 3:18 "Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.
Page 23 - Behold, my servant shall deal prudently, he shall be exalted and extolled, and be very high. As many were astonied at thee, (his visage was so marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men...
Page 17 - The Reaper said, and smiled ; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. "They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear.
Page 36 - AROUND the throne of God in Heaven Thousands of children stand-, Children whose sins are all forgiven, A holy, happy band, Singing, Glory, glory, glory.
Page 36 - What brought them to that world above, That heaven so bright and fair, Where all is peace, and joy, and love ? How came those children there ? Singing glory, glory, glory.
Page 58 - Where the star -beams cease to chill ; Where no tempest stirs the echoes Of the wood, or wave, or hill : Where the morn shall wake in gladness, And the...
Page 33 - This lovely bud, so young and fair, Called hence by early doom, Just came to show how sweet a flower In Paradise would bloom.
Page 41 - In a golden current on, Ere from the garden, man's first abode, The glorious guests were gone. So might the days have been brightly told — Those days of song and dreams, — When shepherds gathered their flocks of old By the blue Arcadian streams. So in those isles of delight, that rest Far off in a breezeless main, Which many a bark, with a weary quest Has sought, but still in vain.

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