 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.  The Homoeopathic Times - Page 1451880Full view - About this book
 | 1889 - 434 pages
...of our earth has been dug over one hundred and twenty-eight times to bury its dead. Truly. "All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." John Stuart Mill likewise writes : '-The power of multiplication inherent in all organic life may be... | |
 | William Ingraham Kip - 1854 - 262 pages
...utterly perished from the land which was once hallowed by their footsteps. " All that tread The earth are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." IV. INSCRIPTIONS IN THE CATACOMBS. IV. THE INSCRIPTIONS DT THE CATACOMBS. THERE is an old Arabian fable,... | |
 | John Frost - 1855 - 462 pages
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that trea£ 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... | |
 | William Cullen Bryant - 1855 - 318 pages
...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, traverse Barca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous... | |
 | 1854 - 748 pages
...bones?"—(The Grave.) The congregation of the dead, that mighty congregation, is thus numbered : " All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom."—(Thanalopsis.) k, " The cap goes round, r And who so artful as to put it bye, 'Tis long since... | |
 | John Wilson - 1856 - 416 pages
...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... | |
 | Evert Augustus Duyckinck, George Long Duyckinck - 1856 - 808 pages
...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 winga Of morning, traverse Bnrca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods... | |
 | Joseph Gostwick - 1856 - 338 pages
...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... | |
 | John Wilson - 1856 - 412 pages
...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... | |
 | John Wilson - 1856 - 432 pages
...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... | |
| |
