Echoes of Infant VoicesW. Crosby and H. P. Nichols, 1849 - 144 Seiten |
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Seite 34
... feel a comfort there . My child , my darling child , how oft with thee Have I passed hours of blameless ecstasy ! How oft have wandered , oft have paused , to hear Thy playful thoughts fall sweetly on my ear ! How oft have caught a hint ...
... feel a comfort there . My child , my darling child , how oft with thee Have I passed hours of blameless ecstasy ! How oft have wandered , oft have paused , to hear Thy playful thoughts fall sweetly on my ear ! How oft have caught a hint ...
Seite 35
... feel thee ever near ; Some frail memorial 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 ...
... feel thee ever near ; Some frail memorial 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 ...
Seite 58
... feel thy breath upon my cheek , I see thee smile , I hear thee speak , Till , O ! my heart is like to break , Casa Wappy ! Methinks thou smil'st before me now , With glance of stealth , The hair thrown back from thy full brow In buoyant ...
... feel thy breath upon my cheek , I see thee smile , I hear thee speak , Till , O ! my heart is like to break , Casa Wappy ! Methinks thou smil'st before me now , With glance of stealth , The hair thrown back from thy full brow In buoyant ...
Seite 79
... feel its first rich breath on thy sweet brow , Child of our hope and love , And stand , with the spring - flowers about thee waking , And catch the early music that is breaking From valley and fresh grove ? Were these to thee a ...
... feel its first rich breath on thy sweet brow , Child of our hope and love , And stand , with the spring - flowers about thee waking , And catch the early music that is breaking From valley and fresh grove ? Were these to thee a ...
Seite 99
... his little breast , Those small , white hands that ne'er were still before , But ever sported with his mother's hair , Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore ! 163316 Her heart no more will beat To feel the touch THRENODIA . 99.
... his little breast , Those small , white hands that ne'er were still before , But ever sported with his mother's hair , Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore ! 163316 Her heart no more will beat To feel the touch THRENODIA . 99.
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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
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 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...
Seite 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...
Seite 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...
Seite 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 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.