Gems of sacred poetry [ed. by R. Cattermole?].

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Сторінка 253 - 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.
Сторінка 212 - New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.
Сторінка 250 - 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.
Сторінка 256 - 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...
Сторінка 145 - 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.
Сторінка 251 - 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...
Сторінка 180 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
Сторінка 33 - 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.
Сторінка 278 - My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity...
Сторінка 146 - The martyr first, whose eagle eye Could pierce beyond the grave; Who saw his Master in the sky, And called on Him to save. Like Him, with pardon on His tongue, In midst of mortal pain, He prayed for them that did the wrong: Who follows in His train...

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