By Nebo's lonely mountain, Bound upon the accursed tree, E'en now, while voiceless midnight, Earth guard what here we lay in holy trust, Father, by thy love and power, Father, into thy loving hands, Full nigh the voyage now is overpast, Few rightly estimate the worth, Forgive thy foes; nor what alone, Gone was the glory of Judea's crown, Go down unto the sea, Heart, heart, lie still, Hail the day that saw him rise, How rare that task a prosperous issue finds, It is told me I must die, I was a wandering sheep, In the dim recess of thy spirit's chamber, I would not live alway― but here I would stay, I love, and have some cause to love, the earth, I cannot always trace the way, If ever life should seem, It is a place where poets crowned, In every object here I see, 142 155 It is a pleasant thought, It was a time of sadness, I wish you neither poverty, It is a place where tender thought, Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Lo, my shepherd's hand divine, Lonely, oh lonely through the sands I wander, Look round the world - behold the chain of love, Lord, what a change within us, one short hour, 211 My God, I know too well that I must die, 32 Musing of all my Father's love, 37 My feet are worn and weary with the march, 100 O that mine eye might closed be, One part, one little part we dimly scan, O ye, who with the silent tear, Such is man's life, and such is wise, 75 Sink, little seed, in the earth's black mould, 105 Say, shall I take the thorn away, 203 Softly sleep in death's cold slumber, 122 She wrapped him in a little shroud, 149 151 174 The holy book, like the eighth sphere does shine, 71 The songs that cheer the pilgrim's way, 83 There was an eastern shepherd, 89 'Tis not for man to trifle! life is brief, 98 Thou art not mine upon thy sweet lip lingers, 103 To weary hearts, to mourning homes, The path of sorrow, and that path alone, The evening cloud in summer sky, The sun is swiftly mounted high, The beam-dispelling mists arise, The ray of spiritual light upon, Though I be poor, yet I will make hard shift, 212 When on my pillowed couch, I lay, 26 When once thy foot enters the church, be dumb, 42 With all thy heart, with all thy soul, and mind, 139 "Where is thy home?" I asked a child, 147 Whence but from Heaven could men unskilled in arts, 156 Who art thou, on the midnight air, 186 What dost thou, O wandering dove, 190 Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, 192 Whence, oh sweet Spring, whence does thy balmy air, 215 Ye who think the truth ye sow, 104 You're weary, precious ones, 213 |