The Pilgrim's Staff: Poems Divine and MoralDuffield, 1906 - 134 էջ |
From inside the book
Էջ 34
... rich garden ; that is bare , Which parts their ranks and orders . The Sundays of man's life , Threaded together on Time's string , Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King : On Sunday Heaven's gate stands ope ...
... rich garden ; that is bare , Which parts their ranks and orders . The Sundays of man's life , Threaded together on Time's string , Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King : On Sunday Heaven's gate stands ope ...
Այլ խմբագրություններ - View all
The Pilgrim's Staff: Poems Divine and Moral (Classic Reprint) Fitz Roy Carrington Դիտել հնարավոր չէ - 2017 |
The Pilgrim's Staff: Poems Divine and Moral (Classic Reprint) Fitz Roy Carrington Դիտել հնարավոր չէ - 2018 |
Common terms and phrases
Alexander Pope Amner Angels ask'd Augustus Montague Toplady Awake babe beautiful Bishop of Calcutta blast blood body dead-alive breast breath Brightest and best Charles Wesley Christina G Cowper dark day most calm dear death Divine dost doth dwell ears eternal fair farewell earth's bliss fear flower forbear to weep glorious Lord grace grief happy home hath heart Heaven Heber Herbert Hierusalem holy Isaac Watts Jehovah's awful throne John John Milton Joseph Addison King light live Lord God Almighty Lord have mercy Lord my pasture Lycidas madest earth mirth morning Muse never night that covers painting pasture shall prepare Peace Poems praise Quarles reachest Reginald Heber Robert Louis Stevenson saints Saviour shade Shepherd shine sick sleep song sorrows soul sprite Sweet baby sweetly tears thee thine eyes thou art Thou hast thou heavy thousand tongues Watts Wesley wide and starry William Ernest Henley Wither
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Էջ 87 - Nothing in my hand I bring; Simply to thy cross I cling ; Naked, come to thee for dress ; Helpless, look to thee for grace ; Foul, I to the fountain fly ; Wash me, Saviour, or I die.
Էջ 47 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Էջ 34 - The Sundays of Man's life, Threaded together on Time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the Wife Of the eternal glorious King. On Sunday, Heaven's gate stands ope! Blessings are plentiful and rife; More plentiful than hope!
Էջ 11 - Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and souls
Էջ 44 - Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood : But now my oat proceeds. And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea, He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
Էջ 43 - Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears; "Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.
Էջ 45 - The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said : But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Էջ 42 - Tempered to the oaten flute ; Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long, And old Damaetas loved to hear our song. But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return ! Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn.