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Page 21 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Page 77 - Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Page 130 - One there lives whose guardian eye Guides our humble destiny ; One there lives who, Lord of all, Keeps our feathers lest they fall : Pass we blithely then the time, Fearless of the snare and lime, Free from doubt and faithless sorrow : God provideth for the morrow !" SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Page 122 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Page 130 - Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose? Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we, poor citizens of air ? Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Yet we carol merrily. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow ! God provideth for the morrow...
Page 4 - I COME, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose .stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Page 113 - When round Thy wondrous works below My searching, rapturous glance I throw, Tracing out Wisdom, Power, and Love, In earth or sky, in stream or grove ; Or, by the light Thy words disclose, Watch Time's full river as it flows, Scanning Thy gracious Providence, Where not too deep for mortal sense : When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, And all the flowers of life unfold, Let not my heart within me burn, Except in all I Thee discern.