The American Common-place Book of Poetry: With Occasional Notes

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George Barrell Cheever
Carter, Hendee, 1831 - 405页
 

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第55页 - Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. The Constancy of
第135页 - Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course. Nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
第192页 - Woodworth. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild wood, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the
第2页 - of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to wit:— " The American Common-Place Book of Poetry, with Occasional Notes. By George B. Cheever.
第94页 - setting day In humble, grateful prayer. I love in solitude to shed The penitential tear, And all His promises to plead, Where none but God can hear. I love to think on mercies past, And future good implore, And all my sighs and sorrows cast On him whom I adore. I love by faith to take a view
第94页 - There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, O, with what peace, and joy, and love. She communes with her God. " There, like the nightingale, she pours Her solitary Jays, Nor asks a witness
第386页 - O Thou, to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of prophet bards was strung, To Thee, at last, in every clime, Shall temples rise, and praise be sung. The Sleeper.—Commercial Advertiser. Few blossoms then had of the year been born; The fresh winds whispered to the unfolding flower, It was the spring-time in its earliest hour:
第94页 - calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree, And seem by Thy sweet bounty made For those who follow Thee. " There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, O, with what peace, and joy, and love. She communes with her God. " There, like the nightingale, she pours Her solitary
第217页 - glory,—sabres rise and fall, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall! There shall thy victor-glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frightened waves rush wildly back, Before the broad-side's reeling rack;
第59页 - Rest thee—there is no prouder grave, We tell thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's— One of the few, the immortal names, Even in her own proud clime. That were not born to die.

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