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Сторінка 6 - Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, — act in the living...
Сторінка 141 - INTO the Silent Land ! Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land...
Сторінка 3 - I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes.
Сторінка 34 - Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms.
Сторінка 18 - Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above ; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours ; Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth, — these golden flowers.
Сторінка 17 - SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.
Сторінка 21 - Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand ; Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land.
Сторінка 39 - WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes.
Сторінка 26 - YES, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared ! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, — sorely ! The leaves are falling, falling, ti Solemnly and slow ; "Caw ! caw ! " the rooks are calling, It is a sound of woe, A sound of woe ! Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll ; They are chanting solemn masses, Singing ; " Pray for this poor soul, Pray, — pray...
Сторінка x - Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go ; Or where the denser grove receives No sunlight from above, But the dark foliage interweaves In one unbroken roof of leaves, Underneath whose sloping eaves The shadows hardly move.

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