Echoes of Infant VoicesW. Crosby and H. P. Nichols, 1849 - 144 páginas |
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Página 16
... and my eye Seek it inquiringly , Before the thought comes that he is not there ! When , at the cool , gray break Of day , from sleep I wake , With my first breathing of the morning air My soul goes up with joy To Him who gave 16 MY CHILD .
... and my eye Seek it inquiringly , Before the thought comes that he is not there ! When , at the cool , gray break Of day , from sleep I wake , With my first breathing of the morning air My soul goes up with joy To Him who gave 16 MY CHILD .
Página 17
... comes the sad thought that he is not there ! When , at the day's calm close , Before we seek repose , I'm with his mother , offering up our prayer , Whate'er I may be saying , I am , in spirit , praying For our boy's spirit , though he ...
... comes the sad thought that he is not there ! When , at the day's calm close , Before we seek repose , I'm with his mother , offering up our prayer , Whate'er I may be saying , I am , in spirit , praying For our boy's spirit , though he ...
Página 20
... come , even as comes the flower , The last and perfect added gift to crown love's morning hour , And how in her was imaged forth the love we could not say , As on the little dew - drops round shines back the heart of day . We never ...
... come , even as comes the flower , The last and perfect added gift to crown love's morning hour , And how in her was imaged forth the love we could not say , As on the little dew - drops round shines back the heart of day . We never ...
Página 35
... comes , some image dear . Each spot still breathes of thee , - each garden- flower Tells of the past , in sunshine or in shower ; And here the chair , and there the sofa stands , Pressed by thy form , or polished by thy hands . My home ...
... comes , some image dear . Each spot still breathes of thee , - each garden- flower Tells of the past , in sunshine or in shower ; And here the chair , and there the sofa stands , Pressed by thy form , or polished by thy hands . My home ...
Página 68
... comes , and " all is in the dust . " ' Tis ever thus , ' t is ever thus , that , when the poor heart clings , With all its finest tendrils , with all its flexile rings , That goodly thing it cleaveth to , so fondly and so fast , Is ...
... comes , and " all is in the dust . " ' Tis ever thus , ' t is ever thus , that , when the poor heart clings , With all its finest tendrils , with all its flexile rings , That goodly thing it cleaveth to , so fondly and so fast , Is ...
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Palavras e frases frequentes
angel ANGEL OF DEATH art thou babe beams beauty behold bird blessed blest bliss bloom blossoms fall breast breath bright brow calm Casa Wappy charm cheek cherub child child Jesus clouds cold crown dark darling dead dear death deep doth dust dwell dying E'en earth earthly face fair farewell Fate feel flowers fond gazed gentle gone grace grave grief happy spirit hath heart heaven heavenly holy hope infant kiss knew life's light lips look lost mirth morning morning-glory mother mourn ne'er never Nevermore night numbered o'er pale passed prayer pure Reaper rest rill riven round seraph silent sinless sleep slumber smile song sorrow star stern word sweet tears tell tender thee thine eye thou art thou didst thou wert thought thy soul thy spirit unto voice watched weary Willie Wilt thou wind windflower wing YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
Passagens conhecidas
Página 142 - She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule.
Página 9 - I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Página 142 - There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Página 141 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair...
Página 125 - We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. " ' So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. " ' Our very hopes belied our fears ; Our fears our hopes belied ; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. " ' For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed ; — she had Another morn...
Página 92 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Página 10 - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The reaper said, and smiled ; " Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child.
Página 130 - Oh, should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be ; And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now.
Página 93 - Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
Página 49 - Up to his style, and manners of the sky. Not of adamant and gold Built he heaven stark and cold ; ; No, but a nest of bending reeds, Flowering grass and scented weeds , \ Or like a traveller's fleeing tent, Or bow above the tempest bent ; Built of tears and sacred flames, And virtue reaching to its aims; Built of furtherance and pursuing, Not of spent deeds, but of doing.