sketches and recollections of lynchburg

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Сторінка 311 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Сторінка 7 - Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind...
Сторінка 152 - Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Сторінка 357 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Сторінка 145 - While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp disguise ; Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous...
Сторінка 251 - When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.
Сторінка 216 - 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.
Сторінка 190 - Lord, who shall abide in Thy tabernacle? Who shall dwell in Thy holy hill? He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, And speaketh the truth in his heart.
Сторінка 135 - Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on his breast I lean my head, And breathe my life out sweetly there.
Сторінка 77 - TREAD softly ! bow the head — In reverent silence bow! No passing bell doth toll; Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. Stranger, however great, With lowly reverence bow ! There's one in that poor shed — One by that paltry bed — Greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo ! Death doth keep his state ! Enter ! — no crowds attend — Enter ! — no guards defend This palace gate.

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