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Página 39 - I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, 'Whose lights are fled Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed...
Página 28 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. "Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 'The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Página 32 - Those joyous hours are past away ; And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone ; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet...
Página 243 - But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. So grant me, GOD, from every care And stain of passion free, Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, To hold my course to Thee ! No sin to cloud, no lure to stay My Soul, as home she springs ; — Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, Thy Freedom in her wings ! FALLEN IS THY THRONE.
Página 242 - ... o'ershadows all the earth and skies like some dark beauteous bird whose plume is sparkling with unnumbered eyes that sacred gloom those fires divine so grand so countless Lord are thine...
Página 20 - THEY made her a grave, too cold and damp " For a soul so warm and true ; " And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, ' " Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
Página 264 - The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary ; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.
Página 28 - ... past ! Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ! But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past ! Utawas tide ! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Página 250 - Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord ! His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword. Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah hath triumphed, — His people are free ! THOMAS MOORE.