The Book of Poetry

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William Morrison Engles
Paul T. Jones, Publishing Agent, 1844 - 264 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 152 - Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom...
Pàgina 61 - JESUS, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow thee ; Naked, poor, despised, forsaken, Thou, from hence, my all shalt be ; Perish every fond ambition, All I've sought, or hoped, or known ; Yet how rich is my condition, God and heaven are still my own.
Pàgina 106 - Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink...
Pàgina 173 - Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all...
Pàgina 174 - 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.
Pàgina 98 - FRIEND after friend departs ; Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying none were blest.
Pàgina 13 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ; Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair ; Thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sit'st above these Heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Pàgina 152 - Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
Pàgina 143 - THOU unrelenting Past ! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters, sure and fast, Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. Far in thy realm withdrawn Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, And glorious ages gone Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.
Pàgina 36 - If aught should tempt my soul to stray From heavenly wisdom's narrow way, To fly the good I would pursue, Or do the sin I would not do, — Still He, who felt temptation's power, Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.

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