Echoes of Infant VoicesW. Crosby and H. P. Nichols, 1849 - 144 Seiten |
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Seite 8
M. A. H.. Little Nelly's Funeral . ( Extract . ) .... The Graves of a Household . ( Extract . ) .. The Child and the Mourner . ( Extract . ) ... Charles Mackay . THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS . THERE is a Reaper. Behold the glorious morn ...
M. A. H.. Little Nelly's Funeral . ( Extract . ) .... The Graves of a Household . ( Extract . ) .. The Child and the Mourner . ( Extract . ) ... Charles Mackay . THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS . THERE is a Reaper. Behold the glorious morn ...
Seite 17
... grave , that now doth Upon that cast - off dress , press Is but his wardrobe locked ; he is not there ! - He lives in all the past He lives ; nor , to the last , Of seeing him again will I despair ; In dreams I see him now ; And on his ...
... grave , that now doth Upon that cast - off dress , press Is but his wardrobe locked ; he is not there ! - He lives in all the past He lives ; nor , to the last , Of seeing him again will I despair ; In dreams I see him now ; And on his ...
Seite 26
... grave my weary head shouldst lay , And live , beloved , when I was gone , for many a happy day . With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to close , And almost envied , in that hour , thy calm and deep repose ; For I was left ...
... grave my weary head shouldst lay , And live , beloved , when I was gone , for many a happy day . With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to close , And almost envied , in that hour , thy calm and deep repose ; For I was left ...
Seite 38
... grave , Bended with joy to his behest , And let the world's affairs go by , Awhile to share his cordial game , Or mend his wicker wagon - frame , — Still plotting how their hungry ear That winsome voice again might hear ; For his lips ...
... grave , Bended with joy to his behest , And let the world's affairs go by , Awhile to share his cordial game , Or mend his wicker wagon - frame , — Still plotting how their hungry ear That winsome voice again might hear ; For his lips ...
Seite 61
... grave The grass renewed should yearly wave , Yet God forget our child to save ? Casa Wappy ! It cannot be for were it so : Thus man could die , Life were a mockery , Thought were woe , And Truth a lie ; Heaven were a coinage of the ...
... grave The grass renewed should yearly wave , Yet God forget our child to save ? Casa Wappy ! It cannot be for were it so : Thus man could die , Life were a mockery , Thought were woe , And Truth a lie ; Heaven were a coinage of the ...
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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.