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angels beauty bells beneath bird breast breath bright clouds comes dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fear feel fire flow flowers give glory gone grace grave green grow hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour Italy keep lady land leave light live look Lord meet mind morning Nature never night o'er once pain pass peace pleasure praise rest rise roll rose round seek seemed seen shade side sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stand stars summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tree true turn voice wandering waves wild wind wings wish wood
105 psl. - Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
51 psl. - No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,' Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
55 psl. - He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
55 psl. - To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven : As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
51 psl. - Plenteous grace with thee is found, Grace to cover all my sin; Let the healing streams abound, Make and keep me pure within. Thou of life the fountain art; Freely let me take of thee; Spring thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity.
123 psl. - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
76 psl. - Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be. Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither; Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
180 psl. - GROW old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!
106 psl. - Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound Better than all treasures That in books are found Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then as I am listening...
163 psl. - Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; Go forth, under the open sky, and list To nature's teachings, while from all around, Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, Comes a still voice...