Poems and SketchesWentworth & Company, 1857 - 104 pages |
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American young lady angel angel's eye azure skies beam beauty beneath bless bliss bloom blush Born-Poet bosom breath breeze bright and glorious brow cheek dark dear death Delusive dream despair dream of yesterday duenna e'en earth echo EDINBURGH evermore father Fear feeble feel flowers fond fondly gaze gentle gloom glow Goliah grave grief heart heaven holier holy hope hushed immortal John kiss life's light lips live lonely loving thee mamma mighty MILLY WENTWORTH mind mother neath never night-orbs o'er POEMS AND SKETCHES Puritan riven Scotland shelf shining sigh silent sister skies sleep sleepeth smile soft song sorrow soul speak spirit stars strife strong sweet sympathy tears tender TENNYSON thine Thou art beloved THOU HAST FLED thought thrill throb throng toil tremble true woman trust voice waves weak weary whispers woman words zephyrs
Popular passages
Page 91 - Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then; Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown ; He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.
Page 97 - ... men, repenting of their evil deeds, And yet not venturing rashly to draw near With their requests an angry Father's ear, Offer to her their prayers and their confession, And she for them in heaven makes intercession. And if our faith had given us nothing more Than this example of all womanhood, So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, This were enough to prove it higher and truer Than all the creeds the world had known before.
Page 9 - I say unto you my friends, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, Fear him.
Page 85 - ... you will surely reap from them when you yourselves totter on the brink of the grave. I entreat you as a friend, as one who has himself entered the ' evening of life,' that you may never say, in the presence of your families nor of heaven, ' Our mother has outlived her usefulness — she was a burden to us.
Page 84 - Eighty-nine ! There she lies now, in the coffin, cold and still : she makes no trouble now, demands no love, no soft words, no tender little offices. A look of patient endurance, we fancied, also an expression of grief for unrequited love, sat on her marble features. Her children were there, clad in weeds of woe, and, in an irony, we remembered the strong man's words, " She was a good mother in her day.
Page 82 - I've had more than my share of her, for she was too feeble to be moved when my time was out, and that was more than three months before her death. But then she was a good mother in her day, and toiled very hard to bring us all up.
Page 84 - ... passed most of her life, toiling as only mothers ever have strength to toil, until she had reared a large family of sons and daughters — that she left her home here, clad in the weeds of widowhood, to dwell among her children ; and that, till health and vigor left her, she lived for you, her descendants.
Page 83 - Seventy, seventy -one, two, three, four ! She begins to grow feeble, requires some care, is not always perfectly patient, or satisfied ; she goes from one child's house to another, so that no one place seems like home. She murmurs in plaintive tones...
Page 83 - When the bell tolled for the mother's burial, we went to the sanctuary to pay our only token of respect to the aged stranger; for we felt that we could give her memory a tear, even though her own children had none to shed. " She was a good mother in her day, and toiled hard to bring us all up!" " She was no comfort to herself, and a burden to everybody else!
Page 85 - Never, never ; a mother cannot live so long as that ! No ; when she can no longer labour for her children nor yet care for herself, she can fall like a precious weight on their bosoms, and call forth by her helplessness all the noble, generous feelings of their natures. Adieu then, poor, toil-worn mother ; there are no more sleepless nights, no more days of pain for thee.