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ALFRED TENNYSoN beauty behold bird bless blind blood breath bright CHARLotte PERKINS GILMAN Christ clouds COUNTRY FAITH dark dawn dead death deeds deep divine doth dream dust dwell earth Edward CARPENTER Edward Dowden eternal eyes face faith fear feel feet Fiona Macleod fire flame flower forever garden GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL glorious glory God's gods grow hand hath hear heart heaven holy human HYMN Jesus King lift light live look Lord marshes of Glynn mercy mighty moon mortal mountain never night o'er pain peace praise pray prayer Rabindranath Tagore RALPH WALDo EMERSoN rise round secret seek Setebos shalt shine silence sing sleep song soul sound spirit stars sweet thee thine things THoMAs Edward Brown thou art Thou hast thought throne tree truth unto voice waves WILLIAM wind wings word
Стр. 517 - Plenteous grace with thee is found, Grace to cover all my sin; Let the healing streams abound, Make and keep me pure within. Thou of life the fountain art; Freely let me take of thee; Spring thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity.
Стр. 371 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden -flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place...
Стр. 270 - I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
Стр. 181 - GOD moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform ; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace ; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will...
Стр. 683 - The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. "Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?" Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean...
Стр. 43 - OH yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Стр. 270 - And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth: Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets, in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though, in solemn silence, all Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
Стр. 43 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream ; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
Стр. 357 - Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in His hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God; see all, nor be afraid!
Стр. 266 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.