The Wheat-sheaf; Or, Gleanings for the Wayside and Fireside ...W.P. Hazard, 1853 - 416 pages |
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Page 17
... round him shower , For him the wild birds carol , and for him the bursting flower , From the jeweled arch of heaven , to the daisy chequered sod , Is one continued banquet for the masterpiece of God ! 17 AND the Frost too , has a ...
... round him shower , For him the wild birds carol , and for him the bursting flower , From the jeweled arch of heaven , to the daisy chequered sod , Is one continued banquet for the masterpiece of God ! 17 AND the Frost too , has a ...
Page 24
... round him its dark vigil keeps : Shall he perish ? " Death ! " " Death ! " is the mutinous cry , " He must triumph to - morrow , or perjured , must die ! " The ingrates ! Shall his tomb on to - morrow be made Of that sea which his ...
... round him its dark vigil keeps : Shall he perish ? " Death ! " " Death ! " is the mutinous cry , " He must triumph to - morrow , or perjured , must die ! " The ingrates ! Shall his tomb on to - morrow be made Of that sea which his ...
Page 27
... round With idle sadness . Not a bird sang out But with a mournful meaning : not a cloud , And there were many , but in flitting past Trailed somewhat of its darkness o'er my heart , And loitering , half - becalmed , unfreighted all ...
... round With idle sadness . Not a bird sang out But with a mournful meaning : not a cloud , And there were many , but in flitting past Trailed somewhat of its darkness o'er my heart , And loitering , half - becalmed , unfreighted all ...
Page 33
... melting , like a wreath of snow , it hangs In folds of wavy silver round , and clothes The orb with richer beauties than her own : Then passing leaves her in her light serene . SOUTHEY . Where is the Enemy ? L. M. CHILD says "
... melting , like a wreath of snow , it hangs In folds of wavy silver round , and clothes The orb with richer beauties than her own : Then passing leaves her in her light serene . SOUTHEY . Where is the Enemy ? L. M. CHILD says "
Page 34
... round for an enemy , and saw the farmer at his plough , the blacksmith at his anvil , and the women at their churns and spinning - wheels . Babies crowed to hear the music , and boys ran out to see the pretty trainers , with feathers ...
... round for an enemy , and saw the farmer at his plough , the blacksmith at his anvil , and the women at their churns and spinning - wheels . Babies crowed to hear the music , and boys ran out to see the pretty trainers , with feathers ...
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Other editions - View all
The Wheat-Sheaf, Or Gleanings for the Wayside and Fireside (Classic Reprint) No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
Absalom ages angel beauty beneath blessed bright brow called child Christ Christian cloud DANIEL WHEELER dark dead dear death deep divine dreams earth Edward Burrough eternal evil faith father fear feel fell Fenelon flowers gentle George Fox glorious glory Gospel grave hand hast hath head hear heart Heaven holy honour hope hour human hymn immortal JAMES NAYLER JOHN HOWARD JOHN WOOLMAN labour life's light lips living LOGAN'S LAMENT look Lord MELANCTHON mercy mighty mind Mosul mountains N. P. WILLIS nature never night NINEVEH o'er passed peace Penn poor praise prayer prison Quaker religion round says seemed shadow shalt shining silent song sorrow soul spirit star strong sweet tears thee thine things THOMAS ELLWOOD thou thought TINTERN ABBEY tion truth unto voice waves weary wild William Penn words young
Popular passages
Page 276 - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
Page 157 - O men with Sisters dear ! O men with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch - stitch - stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
Page 158 - Oh but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, — With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!
Page 196 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 172 - Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in...
Page 372 - THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
Page 277 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth...
Page 197 - 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 — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings...
Page 198 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 158 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread : Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this