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The Sacred Poets of England and America: For Three Centuries
Rufus Wilmot Griswold
Visualização completa - 1866
angels beams bear beauty beneath blessed born breast breath bright bring clouds crown dark death deep delight died divine doth dread dust earth eternal face fair fall fear fire flame flowers give glorious glory grace grave grief hand happy hast hath head hear heart heaven holy hope hour King leave light live look Lord meet mind morning nature never night o'er once pain pass peace pleasure poems poor praise prayer pure reason rest rich rise round seen sense shade shine sight sing sleep smile song soon soul sound spirit spread spring stand stars stream sweet tears thee thine things thou Thou art thought thousand throne true truth turn voice wandering waves wind wings
Página 355 - But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Página 359 - We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May ! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower...
Página 170 - Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Página 358 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things...
Página 275 - From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in Him, in light ineffable ! Come, then, expressive Silence, muse His praise.
Página 172 - No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around ; The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
Página 173 - That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below ; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
Página 376 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high.
Página 171 - Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds, That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous still To give us only good ; and, if the night Have gathered aught of evil or concealed, Disperse it, as now light...