Methodist Magazine and Review, Volumen60W. Briggs., 1904 |
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Página 445 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower...
Página 444 - REAPER BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland lass ! Reaping and singing by herself ; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; O listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Página 160 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Página 457 - O Captain! My Captain! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain!
Página 160 - 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 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 of God.
Página 457 - O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells: Rise up! for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning. Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead.
Página 310 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle ; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile.
Página 160 - Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try : Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. 4 Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air ; His watchword at the gates of death ; He enters heaven with prayer. 5 Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways ; While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry —
Página 154 - God give us men! A time like this demands Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands; Men whom the lust of office does not kill; Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy; Men who possess opinions and a will; Men who have honor. — men who will not lie; Men who can stand before a demagogue, And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking! Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog In public duty, and in private thinking...
Página 186 - The tumult of each sacked and burning village; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; The soldiers...