Voices from the willow and the palm, rhythms of grief and hope selected from the suffering and the thoughtfulStrahan, Page, 1874 - 234 sider |
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Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
A. H. Clough Abner Jones angels Bayard Taylor beauty blessed blest breath bridge with tremulous bright Cambridge town canst Christ clouds cold cross dark dead dear dost dream earth eyes faith flower footstep's fall friends gaze George Wither gleam glory Golden City grief hath hear heart heaven heavenly Henry Lyte Henry Vaughan holy hope Jesus keepeth its secrets life's light living look Lord lost at last Mighty to save morning MOUNT HOREB mountains high never night o'er pain pale pass peace pleasant hall prayer rest river droppeth river is green runneth slow SADDUCEES saith shadow shine silent sing skirts of Cambridge sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things Thou art gone thought thy home trembling tremulous fall Twas unto voice Wade Robinson washeth the base watch weary weep wind
Populære avsnitt
Side 95 - DOES the road wind up-hill all the way ? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place ? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.
Side 124 - MY soul, there is a country, Afar beyond the stars, Where stands a winged sentry, All skilful in the wars. There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles, And one born in a manger, Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend, And (O my soul, awake !) Did in pure love descend, To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of peace, The rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease. Leave then thy foolish ranges...
Side 219 - THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the spirit give by which I pray : My unassisted heart is barren clay, That of its native self can nothing feed : Of good and pious works thou art the seed, That quickens only where thou say'st it may : Unless Thou show to us thine own true way No man can find it : Father ! Thou must lead.
Side 41 - WE cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides; The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides. But tasks in hours of insight will'd Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.
Side 171 - O THOU, whose power o'er moving worlds presides ! Whose voice created, and whose wisdom guides ! On darkling man, in pure effulgence shine, And cheer the clouded mind with light divine.
Side 136 - But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes, the reflection of heaven's own blue: He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view; We saw not the angels who met him there, The gates of the city we could not see; Over the river, over the river, My brother stands waiting to welcome me.
Side 42 - There is no effort on my brow — I do not strive, I do not weep ; I rush with the swift spheres and glow In joy, and when I will, I sleep. Yet that severe, that earnest air, I saw, I felt it once — but where?
Side 20 - WHEN some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence, against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new — What hope ? what help ? what music will undo That silence to your sense ? Not friendship's sigh, Not reason's subtle count; not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew; Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted,...
Side 137 - They cross the stream, and are gone for aye, We may not sunder the veil apart That hides from our vision the gates of day.
Side 22 - Au. are not taken ! there are left behind Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring. And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind. But if it were not so — if I could find No love in all the world for comforting. Nor any path but hollowly did ring, Where