Poems

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C. E. Merrill Company, 1909 - 183 páginas

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Página 121 - Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in His hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God; see all, nor be afraid!
Página 18 - JUST for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others, she lets us devote...
Página 28 - HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA. Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-West died away ; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay ; In the dimmest North-East distance dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; " Here and here did England help me : how can I help England...
Página 124 - Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, Life's struggle having so far reached its term: Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for aye removed From the developed brute; a god, though in the germ.
Página 130 - I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world no doubt, Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about...
Página 76 - How good is man's life, the mere living ! how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses, for ever in joy...
Página 159 - Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away!
Página 118 - And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements...
Página 102 - That, has the world here — should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him. So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, Ground he at grammar; Still, thro' the rattle, parts of speech were rife: While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business — let it be!
Página 50 - My friend, I must speak out at the end, Though I find the speaking hard. Praise is deeper than the lips: You have saved the King his ships, You must name your own reward. 'Faith, our sun was near eclipse! Demand whate'er you will, France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville.

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