The book of poetry [ed. by B.G. Johns].James Burns, 1847 - 186 páginas |
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Página 47
... holy Sabbath comes - we hear them now once more , With a message from the heavens of love , a voice that speaks to all ; Unto the temple of our God , unto His shrine they call . Whether your home's in halls of state , or by the lowly ...
... holy Sabbath comes - we hear them now once more , With a message from the heavens of love , a voice that speaks to all ; Unto the temple of our God , unto His shrine they call . Whether your home's in halls of state , or by the lowly ...
Página 54
... investment , which shall bless and never curse ! Oh , who would spend for house or land , if he might but from above Draw down the sweet and holy dew of happiness and love ? THE TRUMPET . 55 Pour out upon the needy ones Alford.
... investment , which shall bless and never curse ! Oh , who would spend for house or land , if he might but from above Draw down the sweet and holy dew of happiness and love ? THE TRUMPET . 55 Pour out upon the needy ones Alford.
Página 55
... holy floor Kneel humbly in your penitence among the kneel- ing poor ; 66 Cry out at morn and even , and amid the busy day , Spare , spare , O Lord , Thy people ; -oh , cast us not away ! " Hush down the sounds of quarrel ; let party ...
... holy floor Kneel humbly in your penitence among the kneel- ing poor ; 66 Cry out at morn and even , and amid the busy day , Spare , spare , O Lord , Thy people ; -oh , cast us not away ! " Hush down the sounds of quarrel ; let party ...
Página 59
... good Coligny's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God , who rules the fate of war , To fight for His own holy name , and Henry of Navarre . 60 THE WAR OF THE LEAGUE . The king is PT . I.
... good Coligny's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God , who rules the fate of war , To fight for His own holy name , and Henry of Navarre . 60 THE WAR OF THE LEAGUE . The king is PT . I.
Página 62
... holy Name , from whom all glories are ; And glory to our sovereign lord , King Henry of Navarre ! MACAULAY . THE SKIES . Ay , gloriously thou standest there , Beautiful , boundless firmament , That , swelling wide o'er earth and air ...
... holy Name , from whom all glories are ; And glory to our sovereign lord , King Henry of Navarre ! MACAULAY . THE SKIES . Ay , gloriously thou standest there , Beautiful , boundless firmament , That , swelling wide o'er earth and air ...
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Termos e frases comuns
ADAM AND EVE beauty behold beneath bowers breast breath bright Caledonia CASABIANCA charms cheerful clouds cried Cumnor Hall dark dead dear death deep doth dreadful E'en earth eyes fair falchion fear fire flowers Gelert gentle glory grave green grove hand hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hill holy hope HYMN King Henry land light LLEWELLYN lonely look look'd Lord lowly Lycidas Mayenne morn mourn murmur never night o'er pass'd peace pomp praise pray rise round S. T. COLERIDGE secret share shade SHAKSPERE sight silent sing Skiddaw skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound sound of music spirit star stream swain sweet tears tears of thoughtful thee thine things thou art thou hast thought voice wandering wave weep wild wind woods YEAR'S DAY youth
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 28 - Sweet smiling village ! loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green ! One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain...
Página 51 - When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the...
Página 156 - I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Página 133 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Página 156 - The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
Página 121 - And ye five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Página 118 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Página 116 - Where some, like magistrates correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in. their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor...
Página 34 - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Página 104 - Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. Await alike the' inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.