Poets in the PulpitSampson, Law, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1880 - 291 páginas |
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Página 9
... hand , One touch of fire , and all the rest is mystery ! — The pleasant books , that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places , And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces ...
... hand , One touch of fire , and all the rest is mystery ! — The pleasant books , that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places , And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces ...
Página 12
... hands seemed there- Like one in prayer I stood . And wherever he turns divine whispers reach his unspoiled heart , and his words flow forth with the gentle grace and simplicity of a child's prayer : Wondrous truths , and manifold as ...
... hands seemed there- Like one in prayer I stood . And wherever he turns divine whispers reach his unspoiled heart , and his words flow forth with the gentle grace and simplicity of a child's prayer : Wondrous truths , and manifold as ...
Página 46
... hand , and make The bounds of freedom wider yet , By shaping some august decree , Which kept her throne unshaken still , Broad - based upon her people's will , And compassed by th ' inviolate sea . " Or when , at a very critical time in ...
... hand , and make The bounds of freedom wider yet , By shaping some august decree , Which kept her throne unshaken still , Broad - based upon her people's will , And compassed by th ' inviolate sea . " Or when , at a very critical time in ...
Página 47
... yet the wise of heart would cease To hold his hope through shame and guilt ; But , with his hand against the hilt , Would pace the troubled land , like Peace . Not less though dogs of faction bay , Would serve Tennyson . 47.
... yet the wise of heart would cease To hold his hope through shame and guilt ; But , with his hand against the hilt , Would pace the troubled land , like Peace . Not less though dogs of faction bay , Would serve Tennyson . 47.
Página 81
... , as— " Thronging all one porch of Paradise , A group of houris bow'd to see The dying Islamite , with hands and eyes That said , ' We wait for thee . ' " G There was something beautiful about the group of houris bowing Tennyson . 81.
... , as— " Thronging all one porch of Paradise , A group of houris bow'd to see The dying Islamite , with hands and eyes That said , ' We wait for thee . ' " G There was something beautiful about the group of houris bowing Tennyson . 81.
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Términos y frases comunes
ALCOTT Arthur Hallam Author beautiful bright calm chapel Christ Christian Church of England cloth extra coloured Crown 8vo dark dead dear death deep demy 8vo despair Divine Edition English faith Fcap feeling French Full-page George Herbert German gilt edges glory glow grief hear heart heaven High Church History hope human hymn JULES GOUFFÉ Keble land light living Longfellow look Lord Low Church Lycidas Maps MARY COWDEN CLARKE Memoriam mind mood moral nature never night numerous Illustrations pain Palace of Art pass passion peace on earth pleasure poem poet poetic poetry political Portraits Prayer Book pulpit religion religious Ring Rose Library seems sense Simeon Stylites sing Small post 8vo song sorrow soul spirit Story sweet teaching Tennyson thee things thought tion truth unto vision voice vols Volumes whilst wild wind words Wordsworth
Pasajes populares
Página 248 - Earth has not anything to show more fair ! Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty. This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples, lie Open unto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Página 21 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Página 18 - 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.
Página 274 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due...
Página 16 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Página 275 - There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Página 237 - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright ; The bridal of the earth and sky : The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Página 269 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Página 267 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Página 251 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.