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Страница 360 - But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, Standing on what too long we bore We may discern — unseen before — A path to higher destinies. With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, Nor deem the irrevocable Past, As wholly
Страница 11 - us Footprints on the sands of time; Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Footprints, that perhaps another, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing Learn to labor and to wait. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE
Страница 10 - returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, Still, like
Страница 96 - hither I come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow." Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat And bound her to the mast. O
Страница 93 - Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking sea-ward. " There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her
Страница 9 - Stoop o'er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, I felt her presence, by its spell of might, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes. My spirit drank repose
Страница 10 - PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, " Life is but an empty dream !" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest
Страница 97 - Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho! the breakers roared! Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. The
Страница 321 - vapors Amid these earthly damps. What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead,—the child of our affection,—
Страница 25 - A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. 0 what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under

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