My Three Jewels: And Other Poems

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H.S. Crocker & Company, 1887 - 94 pages
 

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Page 91 - In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law...
Page 91 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's...
Page 43 - Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again, just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep!
Page 82 - Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.
Page 44 - Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green. Blossomed and faded, our faces between: Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again. Come from the silence so long and so deep; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep!
Page 69 - seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can write a letter ; My birthday lessons are done ; The lambs play always, they know no better ; They are only one times one.
Page 89 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel, But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade.
Page 93 - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come.
Page 90 - Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
Page 58 - With bluebirds twittering all around, — (Ah, good painter, you can't paint sound !) — These, and the house where I was born, Low and little, and black and old, With children, many as it can hold, All at the windows, open wide, — Heads and shoulders clear outside, And fair young faces all ablush : Perhaps you may have seen, some day, Roses crowding the selfsame way, Out of a wilding, wayside bush.

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