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Seite 108 - He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless — Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
Seite 172 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Seite 117 - See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Seite 410 - Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Seite 185 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.
Seite 130 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Seite 147 - Mine be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet -gown and apron blue. The...
Seite 440 - The sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory.
Seite 144 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything, To do it as for Thee...
Seite 120 - And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last.