ROSABOWER: A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS AND MISCELLANIES.

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Стр. 125 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist Thy image.
Стр. 141 - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine...
Стр. 106 - He ever lives above For me to intercede, His all-redeeming love, His precious blood, to plead ; His blood atoned for all our race, And sprinkles now the throne of grace.
Стр. 84 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
Стр. 36 - I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.
Стр. 53 - Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations.
Стр. 61 - And last, Man's Life on earth, Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. Thou hast my better years ; Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind, Yielded to thee with tears — The venerable form — the exalted mind. My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, And struggles hard to wring Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.
Стр. 45 - tis nought to me Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste, as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
Стр. 62 - Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, Smiles, radiant long ago, And features, the great soul's apparent seat. All shall come back ; each tie Of pure affection shall be knit again ; Alone shall Evil die, And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. And then shall I behold Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, And her, who, still and cold, Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young.
Стр. 210 - Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me?

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