The Poets and Poetry of Europe: With Introductions and Biographical Notices

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Porter and Coates, 1871 - 916 oldal

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328. oldal - 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...
328. oldal - O Land ! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land ;
483. oldal - March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved On victory or death. Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling, Which treacherous kings confederate raise ; The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, And lo ! our fields and cities blaze; And shall we basely view the ruin, While lawless force with guilty stride, Spreads desolation far and wide, With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?
556. oldal - That quickens only where Thou say'st it may : Unless Thou show to us thine own true way No man can find it ; Father! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in thy holy footsteps I may tread ; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of thee, And sound thy praises everlastingly.
555. oldal - YES ! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetrayed ; For if of our affections none find grace In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made The world which we inhabit ! Better plea Love cannot have, than that hi loving thee Glory to that eternal Peace is paid, Who such divinity to thee imparts As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
184. oldal - Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have taken anything from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold.
295. oldal - Let it be — pass on — No good can come of it — it is not well To meet it — it is an enchanted phantom, A lifeless idol; with its numbing look, It freezes up the blood of man ; and they Who meet its ghastly stare are turned to stone, Like those who saw Medusa.
241. oldal - And were this world all Devils o'er, And watching to devour us, We lay it not to heart so sore, Not they can overpower us. And let the Prince of ill Look grim as e'er he will, He harms us not a whit: For why ? His doom is writ, A word shall quickly slay him.
241. oldal - A word shall quickly slay him. God's Word, for all their craft and force, One moment will not linger, But spite of Hell, shall have its course, 'Tis written by his finger. And though they take our life, Goods, honour, children, wife, Yet is their profit small; These things shall vanish all, The City of God remaineth.
556. oldal - THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the spirit give by which I pray: My unassisted heart is barren clay, That of its native self can nothing feed : Of good and pious works thou art the seed, That quickens only where thou say'st it may : Unless Thou show to us thine own true way No man can find it: Father ! Thou must lead.

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