Marchfield: by the author of 'In and out of London'.

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Seite 73 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill...
Seite 233 - For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose Who giveth His beloved sleep. And friends, dear friends, when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one most loving of you all, Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall ! He giveth His beloved sleep.
Seite 227 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Seite 55 - Ah ! why in age Do we revert so fondly to the walks Of childhood — but that there the Soul discerns The dear memorial footsteps unimpaired Of her own native vigour ; thence can hear Reverberations ; and a choral song, Commingling with the incense that ascends, Undaunted, toward the imperishable heavens, From her own lonely altar...
Seite 143 - THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Seite 238 - Prince of peace ! Hail, the Sun of righteousness ! Light and life to all He brings, Risen with healing in His wings : Mild He lays His glory by, Born that man no more may die ; Born to raise the sons of earth ; Born to give them second birth.
Seite 35 - Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, — Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore.
Seite 80 - Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed, And then for cold not sleep a wink.
Seite 199 - Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh ! no, — it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Seite 13 - BE near me when my light is low, When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick And tingle ; and the heart is sick And all the wheels of Being slow.

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