Poets in the Pulpit

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Sampson, Law, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1880 - 291 psl.
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19 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.
275 psl. - 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.
274 psl. - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due...
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.
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.
17 psl. - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...

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