Echoes of Infant VoicesW. Crosby and H. P. Nichols, 1849 - 144 pages |
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Page 25
... pressed , And floods of feeling , undefined , rolled wildly o'er my breast ; Low , stifled sounds , and dusky forms , seemed moving in the gloom , As if Death's dark array were come to bear thee to the tomb . And when I could not keep ...
... pressed , And floods of feeling , undefined , rolled wildly o'er my breast ; Low , stifled sounds , and dusky forms , seemed moving in the gloom , As if Death's dark array were come to bear thee to the tomb . And when I could not keep ...
Page 26
... pressed gently mine , in token of reply ; To ask one more exchange of love , thy look was upward cast , And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed ! I never trusted to have lived to bid farewell to thee , And almost said ...
... pressed gently mine , in token of reply ; To ask one more exchange of love , thy look was upward cast , And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed ! I never trusted to have lived to bid farewell to thee , And almost said ...
Page 28
... pressed On his cold cheek ; then bear him to his rest ! Look yet on this young face ! What shall the beauty , from amongst us gone , Leave of its image , e'en where most it shone , Gladdening its hearth and race ? Dim grows the ...
... pressed On his cold cheek ; then bear him to his rest ! Look yet on this young face ! What shall the beauty , from amongst us gone , Leave of its image , e'en where most it shone , Gladdening its hearth and race ? Dim grows the ...
Page 35
... Pressed by thy form , or polished by thy hands . My home how full of thee ! But where art thou ? Gone , like the sunbeam from the mountain's brow ; But , unlike that , once passed the fated bourn , Bright beam of heaven , thou never ...
... Pressed by thy form , or polished by thy hands . My home how full of thee ! But where art thou ? Gone , like the sunbeam from the mountain's brow ; But , unlike that , once passed the fated bourn , Bright beam of heaven , thou never ...
Page 67
... pressed Thy meek dropped eyelids and quiet breast ; And the glad spring , calling out bird and bee , Shall color all blossoms , fair child , but thee . Thou ' rt gone from us , bright one ; shouldst die , And life be left to the ...
... pressed Thy meek dropped eyelids and quiet breast ; And the glad spring , calling out bird and bee , Shall color all blossoms , fair child , but thee . Thou ' rt gone from us , bright one ; shouldst die , And life be left to the ...
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Common terms and phrases
angel ANGEL OF DEATH art thou babe beams beauty behold bird blessed blest bliss bloom blossoms fall breast breath bright brow calm Casa Wappy charm cheek cherub child child Jesus clouds cold crown dark darling dead dear death deep doth dust dwell dying E'en earth earthly face fair farewell Fate feel flowers fond gazed gentle gone grace grave grief happy spirit hath heart heaven heavenly holy hope infant kiss knew life's light lips look lost mirth morning morning-glory mother mourn ne'er never Nevermore night numbered o'er pale passed prayer pure Reaper rest rill riven round seraph silent sinless sleep slumber smile song sorrow star stern word sweet tears tell tender thee thine eye thou art thou didst thou wert thought thy soul thy spirit unto voice watched weary Willie Wilt thou wind windflower wing YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
Popular passages
Page 142 - She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule.
Page 9 - I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Page 142 - There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Page 141 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair...
Page 125 - We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. " ' So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. " ' Our very hopes belied our fears ; Our fears our hopes belied ; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. " ' For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed ; — she had Another morn...
Page 92 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Page 10 - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The reaper said, and smiled ; " Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child.
Page 130 - Oh, should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be ; And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now.
Page 93 - Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
Page 49 - Up to his style, and manners of the sky. Not of adamant and gold Built he heaven stark and cold ; ; No, but a nest of bending reeds, Flowering grass and scented weeds , \ Or like a traveller's fleeing tent, Or bow above the tempest bent ; Built of tears and sacred flames, And virtue reaching to its aims; Built of furtherance and pursuing, Not of spent deeds, but of doing.