The Wheat-sheaf; Or, Gleanings for the Wayside and Fireside ...W.P. Hazard, 1853 - 416 pages |
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Page 19
... thine accusers ? Go in peace and sin no more . " Does it ask a heart full of gentle and domestic sympa- thy ? follow him to the grave of Lazarus , or to the bier of the wid- ow's son for benevolence ? let the mind dwell for a moment on ...
... thine accusers ? Go in peace and sin no more . " Does it ask a heart full of gentle and domestic sympa- thy ? follow him to the grave of Lazarus , or to the bier of the wid- ow's son for benevolence ? let the mind dwell for a moment on ...
Page 24
... thine ! At length o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks- Land - land ! cry the sailors - land - land - he awakes ; He runs - yes beholds it ! it blesseth his sight , - The land ! oh sweet spectacle ! transport ! delight ' Oh generous ...
... thine ! At length o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks- Land - land ! cry the sailors - land - land - he awakes ; He runs - yes beholds it ! it blesseth his sight , - The land ! oh sweet spectacle ! transport ! delight ' Oh generous ...
Page 33
... thine own , Remember ' tis thy neighbour worm , Thy brother or thy son . Oh pass not , pass not heedless by : Perhaps thou can'st redeem The breaking heart from misery , Go share thy lot with him . Methinks if you would know , How ...
... thine own , Remember ' tis thy neighbour worm , Thy brother or thy son . Oh pass not , pass not heedless by : Perhaps thou can'st redeem The breaking heart from misery , Go share thy lot with him . Methinks if you would know , How ...
Page 44
... THINE is a grief , the depth of which , another , May never know , Yet o'er the waters , O my stricken brother ! To thee I go . I lean my heart unto thee - sadly folding Thy hand in mine , With even the weakness of my soul upholding The ...
... THINE is a grief , the depth of which , another , May never know , Yet o'er the waters , O my stricken brother ! To thee I go . I lean my heart unto thee - sadly folding Thy hand in mine , With even the weakness of my soul upholding The ...
Page 45
... thine the solemn angel Hath evil wrought , Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel- The good die not ! God calls our loved ones ; but we lose not wholly What he hath given : They live on earth , in thought and deed , as truly As in his ...
... thine the solemn angel Hath evil wrought , Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel- The good die not ! God calls our loved ones ; but we lose not wholly What he hath given : They live on earth , in thought and deed , as truly As in his ...
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The Wheat-Sheaf, Or Gleanings for the Wayside and Fireside (Classic Reprint) No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
ages angel appeared bear beauty beneath blessed bright bring brow called child Christ Christian cloud dark dead dear death deep divine dreams earth Ellwood eternal evil fair faith fall father fear feel feet fell felt flowers give glory grave green hand hath head hear heart Heaven holy hope hour human kind labour leave less light living look Lord meet mind mountains nature never night o'er object once passed peace poor prayer present principles prison Quaker reach rest rise round says seemed seen shadow sight silent soul sound spirit stand star strong sweet thee thine things thou thought true truth turned voice waters waves weak weary whole young
Popular passages
Page 276 - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
Page 157 - O men with Sisters dear ! O men with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch - stitch - stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
Page 158 - Oh but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, — With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!
Page 196 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 172 - Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in...
Page 372 - THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
Page 277 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth...
Page 197 - The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings...
Page 198 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 158 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread : Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this