Songs of Labor, and Other Poems

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Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1851 - 127 pages

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Page 39 - Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine...
Page 93 - Revile him not — the Tempter hath A snare for all ; And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, Befit his fall! Oh ! dumb be passion's stormy rage, \ When he who might Have lighted up and led his age, Falls back in night.
Page 6 - So haply these, my simple lays Of homely toil, may serve to show The orchard bloom and tasselled maize That skirt and gladden duty's ways, The unsung beauty hid life's common things below...
Page 36 - The summer grains were harvested ; the stubble-fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye ; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, Unfolded...
Page 13 - THE SHIP-BUILDERS. THE sky is ruddy in the East, The earth is gray below, And, spectral in the river-mist, The ship's white timbers show. Then let the sounds of measured stroke And grating saw begin ; The...
Page 40 - We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, Its harvest- time has come, We pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home.
Page 94 - But let its humbled sons, instead, From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead, In sadness make. Of all we loved and honored, naught Save power remains; A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains.
Page 61 - I hear the far-off voyager's horn ; I see the Yankee's trail — His foot on every mountain-pass, On every stream his sail.
Page 29 - HITRKAH ! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain ; Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! Run up the sail again ! Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed ; The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed.

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