Autobiographical Notes, Letters and Reflections

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Walker, Evans & Cogswell Company, 1914 - 784 страници
 

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Страница 276 - FROM all that dwell below the skies Let the Creator's praise arise : Let the Redeemer's name be sung Through every land, by every tongue. 2 Eternal .are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word ; Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Страница 430 - E'en while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath ! Soul to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.
Страница 402 - The voice of thy thunder was in the heaven: the lightnings lightened the world : the earth trembled and shook.
Страница 723 - The assembly of the Saints. They stand, those halls of Syon, Conjubilant with song, And bright with many an angel, And all the martyr throng...
Страница 117 - With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the Dead; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind.
Страница 511 - And fades the grass away. 3 Our life contains a thousand springs, And dies if one be gone : Strange ! that a harp of thousand strings Should keep in tune so long.
Страница 117 - With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe ; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedewed With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
Страница 8 - Of others' sight familiar were to hers. And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise Have a far deeper madness, and the glance Of melancholy is a fearful gift; What is it but the telescope of truth? Which strips the distance of its fantasies, And brings life near in utter nakedness, Making the cold reality too real!
Страница 14 - Thus, and enamoured, were in him the same. But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, But of ideal beauty, which became In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distempered though it seems.
Страница 726 - SERVANT of God, well done ! Rest from thy loved employ ; The battle fought, the victory won, Enter thy Master's joy. The voice at midnight came, He started up to hear ; A mortal arrow pierced his frame, He fell, — but felt no fear.

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