Sacred Poetry

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J. Crockford, 1854 - 236 Seiten
 

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Seite 38 - THOU art, O God ! the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Seite 45 - AND is there care in heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move ? There is...
Seite 84 - More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If knowing G-od, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
Seite 199 - There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, Or Winter rises in the blackening east ; Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.
Seite 64 - See, a long race thy spacious courts adorn; See future sons, and daughters yet unborn, In crowding ranks on every side arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
Seite 28 - Like to the falling of a star; Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue; Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood; Or bubbles which on water stood; Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to night. The wind blows out; the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past; and man forgot.
Seite 87 - Thou art not certain ; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou art poor ; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee.
Seite 80 - Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.
Seite 139 - How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting...
Seite 43 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

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