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angels appear arms beams bear beauty behold blessed blood born breast breath bright bring clouds crown dark death deep delight died divine doth dread ears earth eternal eyes face fair fall fear fire flame flowers foes give glorious glory golden grace grave hand happy hast hath head heart heaven heavenly hell hills holy hope King leave less light live look Lord mighty mind morning mortal nature never night o'er once pain pass pleasure poor praise rest rich rise round sacred seemed sense shade shine sight sing song soon soul sound spirit spread spring stand stars streams sweet tears Thee thine things Thou thought thousand throne true turn unto voice waves wind wings wise wound
Page 243 - The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
Page 240 - No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around ; The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
Page 246 - O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones...
Page 133 - THE Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain ; His blood-red banner streams afar : Who follows in his train ? Who best can drink his cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears his cross below — He follows in his train.
Page 241 - That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below ; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep...
Page 168 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
Page 21 - Should Fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song ; where first the Sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the' Atlantic isles ; 'tis nought to me : Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
Page 266 - My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity...