Poets in the PulpitSampson, Law, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1880 - 291 psl. |
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ALCOTT Arthur Hallam Author beautiful bright calm century chapel Christ Christian Church of England cloth extra coloured Crown 8vo dark dead dear death deep Demy 8vo despair Divine Edition English faith Fcap feeling Full-page Gentle George Herbert gilt edges glory glow grief hear heart heaven High Church History hope human hymn JULES VERNE Keble land light living Longfellow look Lord Low Church Lycidas Maps Memoriam mind mood moral nature never night numerous Illustrations pain Palace of Art pass passion peace on earth pleasure poem poet poetic poetry political Portraits Prayer Book pulpit R. D. BLACKMORE religion religious Ring Rose Library seems sense Simeon Stylites sing Small post 8vo song sorrow soul spirit sweet teaching Tennyson thee things thought tion truth unto vision voice vols Volumes whilst wild wind Woodcuts words Wordsworth
Populiarios ištraukos
21 psl. - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
18 psl. - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
275 psl. - Through the dear might of him that walked the waves ; Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing, in their glory move And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
16 psl. - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
237 psl. - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright; The bridal of the earth and sky : The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die.
267 psl. - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
269 psl. - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
251 psl. - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
180 psl. - New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray ; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven. If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice.
271 psl. - No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the arme'd throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by 51 TT 52 BOOK SECOND.