Songs of Praise and Poems of Devotion in the Christian Centuries

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Henry Coppée
E. H. Butler & Company, 1866 - 264 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 213 - From India's coral strand ; Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain. 2 What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's. isle ; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile : In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown : The heathen in his blindness, Bows down to wood and stone.
Pàgina 233 - THE Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain ; His blood-red banner streams afar : Who follows in his train ? Who best can drink his cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears his cross below — He follows in his train.
Pàgina 61 - Hath He marks to lead me to Him, If He be my Guide ? " In His Feet and Hands are Wound-prints. And His Side.
Pàgina 129 - 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...
Pàgina 107 - What would we give to our beloved? The hero's heart, to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows? — "He giveth His beloved sleep.
Pàgina 75 - Faint and weary Thou hast sought me, On the cross of suffering bought...
Pàgina 259 - THERE is a book, who runs may read, Which heavenly truth imparts, And all the lore its scholars need, Pure eyes and Christian hearts. The works of God above, below, Within us and around, Are pages in that book, to show How God Himself is found.
Pàgina 95 - All jubilant with song, And bright with many an angel, And all the martyr throng : The Prince is ever in them, The daylight is serene, The pastures of the blessed Are decked in glorious sheen. 3 There is the throne of David ; And there, from care released, The shout of them that triumph, The song of them that feast...
Pàgina 165 - Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds; Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!
Pàgina 219 - BLEST are the pure in heart, For they shall see our God ; The secret of the Lord is theirs ; Their soul is Christ's abode.

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