Evening hours, ed. by E.H. Bickersteth, Volume 1

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Edward Henry Bickersteth (bp. of Exeter)
1874
 

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Page 493 - God pity them both ! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these :
Page 555 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
Page 613 - And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Page 176 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Page 555 - That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man ! The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
Page 606 - Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, And make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. For the Lord is a great God, And a great King above all gods. In his hand are the deep places of the earth : The strength of the hills is his also. The sea is his, and he made it : And his hands formed the dry land.
Page 24 - But they constrained him, saying ; Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.
Page 556 - Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side? There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air, Lone wandering, but not lost.
Page 558 - Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees.
Page 558 - Tis life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp — A moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven...

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