Every Man's Book of Sacred Verse

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Gordon Crosse
A. R. Mowbray & Company, Limited, 1924 - 265 pages
 

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Page 185 - Then, in such hour of need Of your fainting, dispirited race, Ye, like angels, appear, Radiant with ardour divine. Beacons of hope, ye appear! Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word, Weariness not on your brow. Ye alight in our van ! at your voice, Panic, despair, flee away. Ye move through the ranks, recall The stragglers, refresh the outworn, Praise, re-inspire the brave. Order, courage, return; Eyes rekindling, and prayers, Follow your steps as ye go. Ye fill up the gaps in...
Page 95 - My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity...
Page 172 - FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Page 119 - The unwearied sun from day to day does his Creator's power display, and publishes to every land the work of an almighty hand.
Page 119 - Soon as the evening shades prevail, The Moon takes up the wondrous tale; And nightly, to the listening Earth, Repeats the story of her birth : Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.
Page 52 - And both with moons and tides. Nothing hath got so far, But man hath caught and kept it as his prey: His eyes dismount the highest star; He is in little all the sphere; Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they Find their acquaintance there.
Page 53 - No more ; I will abroad. What ? shall I ever sigh and pine ? My lines and life are free ; free as the road. Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Page 72 - Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.
Page 172 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me. And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark: And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Page 71 - Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. So when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

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