Flowers of sacred poetry, selected by B. Richings

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Benjamin Richings
1855
 

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Страница 65 - Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away : Change and decay in all around I see ; 0 Thou Who changest not, abide with me.
Страница 165 - When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.
Страница 306 - 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 ! Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
Страница 145 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Страница 33 - But what to those who find ? Ah ! this Nor tongue nor pen can show : The love of Jesus, what it is, None but his loved ones know.
Страница 156 - Live while you live, the Epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day. Live while you live, the sacred Preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies.
Страница 198 - One army of the living God, To his command we bow ; Part of the host have crossed the flood, And part are crossing now.
Страница 145 - But in his duty, prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Страница 228 - Not there, not there, my child! " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair — Sorrow and death may not enter there : Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, — It is there, it is there, my child!
Страница 129 - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven : And how they might have borne more welcome news.

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