The Laurel Wreath

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Samuel Dickinson Burchard
S. Andrus, 1845 - Gift books - 364 pages

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Page 300 - The historic muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn, Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass To guard them and to immortalize her trust...
Page 320 - Tho' all, that knew him, know his face no more, His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, With that mute eloquence which passes speech. — And see, the master but returns to die ! Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly ? The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth, The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth, These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave, Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.
Page 38 - What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave: Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found! O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare: — If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the...
Page 188 - FRIEND after friend departs : Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our final rest, Living or dying, none were blest. Beyond the flight of time, Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blessed clime, Where life is not a breath ; Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward and expire...
Page 196 - Then before All they stand — the holy vow And ring of gold, no fond illusions now, Bind her as his. Across the threshold led, And every tear kissed off as soon as shed, His house she enters — there to be a light Shining within, when all without is night ; A guardian- angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing...
Page 317 - Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we, That hear the question of that voice sublime ? O ! what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ? Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life, to thy unceasing roar ? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him, Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far Above its loftiest mountains ? — a light wave, That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.
Page 312 - Meet there and madden ; waves innumerable Urge on, and overtake the waves before, And disappear in thunder and in foam. They reach, they leap the barrier ; the abyss Swallows, insatiable, the sinking waves. A thousand rainbows arch them, and the woods Are deafened with the roar. The violent shock Shatters to vapour the descending sheets ; A cloudy whirlwind fills the gulf, and heaves The mighty pyramid of circling mist To heaven.
Page 309 - Ah, terribly they rage, — The hoarse and rapid whirlpools there! My brain Grows wild, my senses wander, as I gaze Upon the hurrying waters ; and my sight Vainly would follow, as toward the verge Sweeps the wide torrent. Waves innumerable Meet there and madden, — waves innumerable Urge on and overtake the waves before, And disappear in thunder and in foam.
Page 25 - Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar.
Page 317 - Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out heaven with the span, and comprehended the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance?

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