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beauty beneath bless bliss blood blue bring clear cloud cold dark dead dear death deep doth dream drops earth eyes face faith fall fear feel feet flowers forever Freedom give gleam glow God's gold golden gone green grew grows hands happy hath hear heard heart heaven hold holy hope human knew land leap leaves less light living lonely look man's nature never night o'er once past peace poor rest round seemed shadow side sight silence sing smile song sorrow soul speak spirit spring stand stars stood summer sunshine sure sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree true truth turned voice wall wander waves wide wind wings wood wrong youth
160. oldal - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side...
206. oldal - My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee ; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.
314. oldal - The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share, ! For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.
47. oldal - What doth the poor man's son inherit" ? Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by-toil-won merit, Content that from employment springs, A heart that in his labor sings ; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.
96. oldal - Which in the poet's tropic heart bear flowers Whose fragrance fills the earth. Within the hearts of all men lie These promises of wider bliss, Which blossom into hopes that cannot die, In sunny hours like this. All that hath been majestical In life or death, since time began, Is native in the simple heart of all, The angel heart of man.
115. oldal - No man is born into the world, whose work Is not born with him ; there is always work, And tools to work withal, for those who will; And blessed are the horny hands of toil I The busy world shoves angrily aside The man who stands with arms akimbo set.
125. oldal - MEN ! whose boast it is that ye Come of fathers brave and free, If there breathe on earth a slave, Are ye truly free and brave ? If ye do not feel the chain, When it works a brother's pain, Are ye not base slaves indeed, Slaves unworthy to be freed ? Women!
97. oldal - It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century ; — But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men...
161. oldal - Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word; Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, — Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.
304. oldal - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And...