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Abbot angels Auvergne back my flowers battle beam beauty bells beloved sleep beneath blood Boscastle bosom breast breath breeze bright broadswords brow cheek child chime Cjrt cloud cold cried curse dark dead death deep doth dream earth fair fearful France gaze giveth His beloved gleam glorious glory green gusset hand HARVARD COLLEGE hath hear heard heart heaven Henry of Navarre hill knew ladies gay lady smile land light lips lonely lonely rock looked lute Mayenn mortal may know never night o'er pale pass'd passing Pharisee Pibroch prayer pride Provencal rest rose round sea bird Sensitive Plant shine shore sing skies smile song soul sound spirit stood stream strife sunny sweet sword tears thee Thou art gone throne tide Tintagel tone tree Twas uncon voice Waken waves ween weep wild wind wing youth
Page 88 - O men with Sisters dear ! O men with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch - stitch - stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
Page 109 - OF all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this — ' He giveth His beloved sleep ' ? What would we give to our beloved? The hero's heart to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows? — He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Page 11 - A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind!
Page 32 - And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen Through their pavilions of tender green...
Page 62 - The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Page 85 - O clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid. Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betray'd. And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Page 91 - There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Page 89 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 109 - Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep. But never doleful dream again. Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.