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adore angels arched magazines art thou beams beauty behold beneath blast blessed blest bliss born breast breath bright clouds crown dark death deep delight didst Dies Irae divine dost doth dread dust dwell earth Edom eternal fair fear flame flowers glorious glory God's grace grave grief hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven heavenly holy hope hour hymn immortal King light live Lord mercy mind Mizraim morning mortal night o'er pain peace Pembroke Hall pleasure poems poet praise prayer pride rest RICHARD BLACKMORE rise round sacred Sacred Poets seraphs shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sublime sweet tears tempest thee thine things THOMAS FLATMAN Thou art thought throne Twas unto voice waves weep wind wings
Page 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?
Page 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...
Page 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.
Page 358 - Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things...
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 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...