Poems of Religious Sorrow, Comfort, Counsel and Aspiration

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Sheldon, 1863 - 204 pages
 

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Page 196 - Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease ; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 215 Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Page 82 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition, This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death...
Page 81 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page 39 - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Page 3 - A Hymn to God the Father Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run, And do run still: though still I do deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For, I have more.
Page 58 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.
Page 40 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream: but what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Page 51 - Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame...
Page 41 - So careful of the type?' but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, 'A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more.
Page 133 - SOME murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue : And some with thankful love are filled If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy gild The darkness of their night.

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