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ALBERT arms battle beauty birth bliss blood blow breast breath bright cease charms child clouds cold country's dark daughter dead dear death deep delightful despair dwell earth eternal expiring fair fathers feel fell felt field fire flame fled flood flowers foes fond FRIEND glory grave grief hand head heart heaven hoary hope horror hour Lake land light lives Lyre mind moon morn Mother mountains native Nature never night o'er Ocean once pale peace plain poor rest rise rocks rose round scene shade shed Shep shine silent slain slaves sleep smile soft sorrows soul spirit spread star storm sweet SWITZERLAND tears tell thee thine thou Till tomb truth vale Valley VENGEANCE voice Wand Wanderer waves weep Wife wild wind WINTER wounds yield youth
Página 80 - THERE is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.
Página 170 - The changing spirits' rise and fall, We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all. He suffered, — but his pangs are o'er ; Enjoyed,— but his delights are fled ; Had friends, — his friends are now no more ; And foes, — his foes are dead. He...
Página 171 - The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw, Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew.
Página 73 - The soul, of origin divine, God's glorious image freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day ! The sun is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The soul, immortal as its Sire, SHALL NEVER DIE!
Página 76 - LIVE ! — repent and pray ; In dust thine infamy deplore ; There yet is mercy ; — go thy way, And sin no more.
Página 75 - Ah! think not, hope not, fool, to find A friend in me. •By all the terrors of the tomb. Beyond the power of tongue to tell...
Página 124 - Welcome to a Land of Rest ! Thus the choir of angels sing, As they bear the soul on high, While with hallelujahs ring All the regions of the sky.
Página 84 - All in awful judgment rise. — 0 then, innocently brave, 1 will wrestle with the wave ; Lo ! Commerce spreads the daring sail, And yokes her naval chariots to the gale. " Blow, ye breezes ! — gently blowing, Waft me to that happy shore, Where, from fountains ever flowing, Indian realms their treasures pour ; Thence returning, poor in health, Rich in honesty and wealth, O'er thee, my dear paternal soil, I'll strew the golden harvest of my toil.