Lyric Gems: A Collection of Original and Select Sacred Poetry

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Samuel Francis Smith
Gould, Kendall & Lincoln, 1844 - 128 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 87 - Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth; Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer, But all for thee, thou Mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour — Its feverish hour — of mirth and song and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears, — but all are thine.
Pàgina 55 - Lord, thy guests away. 2 Long have we roamed in want and pain, Long have we sought thy rest in vain ; Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost, Long have our souls been tempest-tost ; Low at thy feet our sins we lay ; Turn not, O Lord ! thy guests away.
Pàgina 88 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Pàgina 22 - OH ! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream : Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; Mourn — where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
Pàgina 57 - ONE prayer I have, — all prayers in one, — When I am wholly thine; • " Thy will, my God, thy will be done, And let that will be mine.
Pàgina 46 - Launch thy bark, mariner ! Christian, God speed thee ! Let loose the rudder-bands — Good angels lead thee! Set thy sails warily, Tempests will come; Steer thy course steadily; Christian, steer home! Look to the weather-bow, Breakers are round thee ; Let fall the plummet now, Shallows may ground thee.
Pàgina 60 - Lift the heart and bend the knee. Traveller, in the stranger's land, Far from thine own household band ; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone ; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell ; Sailor, on the darkening sea, Lift the heart and bend the knee.
Pàgina 89 - To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope, My soul is in haste to be gone ; Oh bear me, ye cherubim, up, And waft me away to his throne...
Pàgina 87 - Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale? They have one season — all are ours, to die!
Pàgina 52 - Doth not each rain-drop help to form The cool, refreshing shower, And every ray of light to warm And beautify the flower...

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