Friendship's Forget-me-not

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T. Nelson, 1849 - American poetry - 243 pages
 

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Page 106 - Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
Page 109 - Who, that surveys this span of earth we press, — This speck of life in time's great wilderness, This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future, two eternities ! — Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, When he might build him a proud temple there A name that long shall hallow all its space, And be each purer soul's high resting-place?
Page 94 - SLAVE'S DREAM Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his Native Land.
Page 243 - The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round : The haughtiest breast its wish might bound...
Page 114 - When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise, and ocean rolls, And all is drear...
Page 94 - He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand!— A tear burst from the sleeper's lids And fell into the sand. And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger's bank; His bridle-reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank, At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank.
Page 190 - YES, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared ! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, — sorely...
Page 20 - Oh, who shall lightly say that fame Is nothing but an empty name. When but for those our mighty dead All ages past a blank would be, Sunk in Oblivion's murky bed, A desert bare, a shipless sea?
Page 112 - Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years, One minute of heaven is worth them all...
Page 106 - Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ; Let the dead past bury its dead ; Act, act in the living present, Heart within, and God o'erhead.

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