The poetical works of Horace Smith. 2vols

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Сторінка 4 - Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfume on the passing air Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer : Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane most catholic and solemn Which God hath plann'd,— To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply, Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky.
Сторінка 4 - To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply — Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky. There — as in solitude and shade I wander Through the green aisles, or, stretched upon the sod, Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The ways of God...
Сторінка 9 - Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass, Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, A torch at the great temple's dedication. I need not ask thee if that hand, when...
Сторінка 7 - Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Сторінка 69 - There is ! there is ! One primitive and sure ; Religion pure, Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes Wear myriad modes, Contains all creeds within its mighty span ; The love of God displayed in love of man.
Сторінка 9 - We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations: The Roman empire has begun and ended, New worlds have risen, we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.

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