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Страница 49 - THE spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. The unwearied sun from day to day Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land The work of an almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail The moon takes Up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they...
Страница 110 - But thou art here — thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music ; thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt — the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee.
Страница 11 - Deep horror then my vitals froze, death-struck, -I ceased the tide to stem; when suddenly a star arose — it was the Star of Bethlehem.
Страница 258 - TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given — For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Страница 109 - Father, Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns. Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees.
Страница 21 - Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
Страница 18 - Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? The world recedes; it disappears!
Страница 258 - And as if strength were given him of God, He rose up calmly and composed the pall Firmly and decently, — and left him there, As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.