The Literary Remains of John G. C. Brainard: With a Sketch of His LifeP. B. Goodsell, 1882 - 228 pàgines |
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
LITERARY REMAINS OF JGC BRAINA John Gardiner Calkins 1796-18 Brainard,John Greenleaf 1807-1892 Whittier Previsualització no disponible - 2016 |
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Passatges populars
Pàgina 21 - What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sun-shine, and the heart-felt joy, Is Virtue's prize...
Pàgina 155 - By the festal cities blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore.
Pàgina 91 - And what are we That hear the question of that voice sublime ? O, what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet by thy thundering side ? Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life to thy unceasing roar ? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to HIM Who drowned a world and heaped the waters far Above its loftiest mountains ? — a light wave That breaks and whispers of its Maker's might.
Pàgina 145 - s music in the deep : It is not in the surfs rough roar, Nor in the whispering, shelly shore — They are but earthly sounds, that tell How little of the sea-nymph's shell, That sends its loud clear note abroad, Or winds its softness through the flood, Echoes through groves with coral gay, And dies, on spongy banks, away. There's music in the deep.
Pàgina 91 - Oh, what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ? Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life, to thy unceasing roar? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far Above its loftiest mountains ? — a light wave, That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.
Pàgina 62 - There perched and raised her song for me. The winter comes, and where is she ? Away — where summer wings will rove — Where buds are fresh, and every tree Is vocal with the notes of love.
Pàgina 144 - That sickening, sinking look, which we Till dead can ne'er forget. Beyond the blue seas, far away, Most wretchedly alone, One died in prison, far away, Where stone on stone shut out the day, And never hope or comfort's ray In his lone dungeon shone. Dead to the world, alive to me, Though months and years have...
Pàgina 151 - And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons where each lay, shall be grass, with reeds and rushes.
Pàgina 63 - No mountain top with sleety hair, Bends o'er the snows its reverend head. * Go there with all the birds, — and seek A happier clime, with livelier flight ; Kiss, with the sun, the evening's cheek ; And leave me lonely with the night. I'll gaze upon the cold north light, And mark where all its glories shone — See — that it all is fair and bright, Feel — that it all is cold and gone...
Pàgina 72 - Of yon vast deep, whose waters grasp the world. In what Arcadian, what Utopian ground Are warmer hearts, or manlier feelings found, More hospitable welcome, or more zeal To make the curious