The Humbler Poets: A Collection of Newspapers and Periodical Verse, 1870 to 1885

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A.C. McClurg and Company, 1885 - 459 pages
 

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Page 255 - gainst time or fate, For lo ! my own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace ? I stand amid the eternal ways. And what is mine shall know my face.
Page 76 - Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Page 122 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Page 277 - I live for those who love me, For those who know me true, For the heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit too ; For the cause that lacks assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do.
Page 235 - But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart! God's plans like lilies pure and white unfold. We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.
Page 328 - It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century ; — But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men...
Page 414 - Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding The generous deed was done ; In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won ; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day ; Under the blossoms, the Blue ; Under the garlands, the Gray.
Page 198 - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
Page 310 - Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves. And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves, — So, without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept. Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept.
Page 301 - These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end ; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. " The ill-timed truth we might have kept — Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung ? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung...

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