Poetical Works: With Numerous Illus

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Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1886 - 344 Seiten
 

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Seite 297 - Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord, What may thy service be ? — Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word, But simply following Thee.
Seite 185 - But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, And his mother vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, And Maud was left in the field alone.
Seite 202 - Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!
Seite 186 - Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only,
Seite 268 - So all night long the storm roared on : The morning broke without a sun ; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell ; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own.
Seite 176 - WE cross the prairie as of old The pilgrims crossed the sea, To make the West, as they the East, The homestead of the free...
Seite 118 - I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be ; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea. The rudiments of empire here Are plastic yet and warm ; The chaos of a mighty world Is rounding into form...
Seite 127 - It may not be our lot to wield The sickle in the ripened field ; Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, The reaper's song among the sheaves ; Yet where our duty's task is wrought In unison with God's great thought, The near and future blend in one, And whatsoe'er is willed is done...
Seite 129 - That all of good the past hath had Remains to make our own time glad, Our common daily life divine, And every land a Palestine.
Seite 112 - Hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern Of the good hereafter. Knowing this, that never yet Share of Truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead Reap the harvests yellow. Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, Must the moral pioneer From the Future borrow; Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain, Paint the golden morrow!

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