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Página 7 - I need Thy presence every passing hour : What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter's power? Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be ? Through cloud and sunshine, LORD, abide with me.
Página 56 - GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting; The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.
Página 56 - The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For, having lost...
Página 105 - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Página 32 - A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone ; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. 5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away ; They fly forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day...
Página 112 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Página 52 - O'er each fair sleeping brow, She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now? One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid ; The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade.
Página 22 - Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.
Página 55 - And the scene where his melody charm'd me before Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.