The poetic prism or Original and reflected rays from modern verse ed. by R.N. Greville

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Robert Northmore Greville
MacLachlan, 1848 - 403 psl.
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22 psl. - Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep. But never doleful dream again. Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.
397 psl. - BENEATH our feet and o'er our head Is equal warning given ; Beneath us lie the countless dead, Above us is the Heaven...
185 psl. - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
238 psl. - IT is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart's decaying ; It is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying ; Yet let the grief and humbleness as low as silence languish : Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish.
109 psl. - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled ; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child.
28 psl. - TREAD softly! bow the head — In reverent silence bow ! No passing bell doth toll; Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. Stranger, however great, With lowly reverence bow! There's one in that poor shed — One by that paltry bed — Greater than thou.
109 psl. - I have naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
256 psl. - UP to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And he accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim. Nor will he turn his ear aside From holy offerings at noontide. Then here reposing let us raise A song of gratitude and praise.
185 psl. - WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way...

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