The Bryant Homestead-bookG. P. Putnam & son, 1870 - 224 |
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Strona 101 - When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house...
Strona 101 - 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.
Strona 144 - Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die — but see, again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms.
Strona 160 - No, they are all unchained again: The clouds Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South, Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers, And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high, Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not...
Strona 155 - And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, Within the hollow oak. I listen long To his domestic hum, and think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts.
Strona 182 - The love that lived through all the stormy past, And meekly with my harsher nature bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last — Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? A happier lot than mine, and larger light, Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right, And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ; And wrath hath left its scar — that fire of hell Has...
Strona 47 - GOD might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. "We might have had enough, enough For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have had no flowers. The ore within the mountain mine Requireth none to grow ; Nor doth it need the lotus-flower To make the river flow.
Strona 11 - STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood And view the haunts of Nature.
Strona 12 - Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment; as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy Existence than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets.
Strona 143 - The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.