Poetry of America: Selections from One Hundred American Poets from 1776 to 1876

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G. Bell, 1878 - 387 oldal

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25. oldal - gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallow'd up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart: He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must
224. oldal - 1819— BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC* Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed^ the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword : His truth is marching on. Glory Glory
224. oldal - is marching on. Glory ! glory, hallelujah ? He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat: O, be swift, my soul! to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. Glory ! glory, hallelujah
7. oldal - 0! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ? On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses
224. oldal - glory, hallelujah! His truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. Glory ! glory, hallelujah
225. oldal - the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me : As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free ! While God is marching on. Glory! glory, hallelujah
120. oldal - open'd wide the door : Darkness there, and nothing more ! Deep into that darkness peering, Long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal Ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, And the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken Was the whispered word—" Lenore !
122. oldal - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now Burn'd into my bosom's core; This, and more, I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining
224. oldal - seat: O, be swift, my soul! to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. Glory ! glory, hallelujah ! In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me : As He died to make men holy,
24. oldal - fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valour given; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. For ever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

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