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arms Becket blood born break breath brother child close comes crown dark dead dear death deep Dora dream earth England Enter eyes face fair fall father fear fire flower follow give golden gone half hall hand happy Harold hast hate hath head hear heard heart heaven Henry hold Holy hope hour King knew Lady Lancelot land leave light live look lord lost Mary mind morning mother move never night once pass past Philip poem poor Queen rest rose round shadow side sleep smile song soul speak star stood sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought thro till true voice wild wind wood
Page 186 - disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the Christ that is to be. Ring in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land,
Page 159 - truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. 1849. I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. But who shall so forecast the years And Und in loss a gain to match ? Or reach a hand thro
Page 172 - I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. LVI • So careful of the type ? ' but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, ' A thousand types are gone; I care for nothing, all shall go.
Page 171 - in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last —far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night;
Page 445 - never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Page 445 - And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge: ' The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 410 Comfort thyself; what comfort is in me ? • . I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within himself make pure ! but thou, *—-
Page 10 - Upon himself himself did feed; Quiet, dispassionate, and cold, And other than his form of creed, With chisell'd features clear and sleek. THE POET THE poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw
Page 63 - That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of goats prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet
Page 186 - the sin. The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring ont false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of