A Lily Among Thorns

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Seeley, Jackson, and Halliday, 1874 - 337页

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第48页 - THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds, And as the mind is pitched the ear is pleased With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave, Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touched within us, and the heart replies.
第24页 - There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.
第241页 - TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that...
第79页 - Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; Blow upon my garden, That the spices thereof may flow out.
第71页 - Grand is the leisure of the earth ; She gives her happy myriads birth, And after harvest fears not dearth, But goes to sleep in snow-wreaths dim. Dread is the leisure up above The while He sits whose name is Love, And waits, as Noah did, for the dove, To wit if she would fly to him. " He waits for us, while, houseless things, We beat about with bruised wings On the dark floods and water-springs, The ruined world, the desolate sea ; With open windows from the prime All night, all day, He waits sublime,...
第201页 - The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow.
第122页 - Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet; It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert.
第96页 - It is the little rift within the lute, That by-and-by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
第304页 - Whether, early called to bliss, He in youth shall find his rest, Or armed in his station wait Till his Lord be at the gate : Whether in his lonely course (Lonely, not forlorn) he stay, Or with Love's supporting force Cheat the toil and cheer the way...

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