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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
O universal Mother, who dost keep From everlasting thy foundations deep, Eldest of things, Great Earth, I sing of thee!
Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head! Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams! Sweet Sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown Sweet Sleep, angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child!
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest The wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?
THERE was once a day, but old Time wasythen young, That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, From some of your northern deities sprung, (Who knows not that brave Caledonia’s divine?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,...
Nothing is so beautiful as spring— When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to...
The Soul has Bandaged moments -- When too appalled to stir -- She feels some ghastly Fright come up And stop to look at her...
O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry? Wha will kiss me where I lie? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. O wha will own he did the faut? O wha will buy the groanin maut?
These locks, which fondly thus entwine, In firmer chains our hearts confine, Than all th' unmeaning protestations Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree -- Another -- on the Roof -- A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves -- And made the...
Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise! Up,--to thy wonted work!
The morning opens fine, bonny Mary O! The robin sings his song by the dairy O! Where the little Jenny wrens cock their tails among the hens, Singing morning's happy songs with Mary O! The swallow's on the wing, bonny Mary O!
When Eastern lovers feed the funeral fire, On the same pile the faithful pair expire. Here pitying Heaven that virtue mutual found, And blasted both, that it might neither wound. Hearts so sincere, the Almighty saw well pleased, Sent his...
He plays with other boys when work is done, But feels too clumsy and too stiff to run, Yet where there's mischief he can find a way The first to join and last [to run] away.
The chain I gave was fair to view, The lute I added sweet in sound; The heart that offered both was true, And ill deserved the fate it found. These gifts were charmed by secret spell, Thy truth in absence...
"Friends, Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers." Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other's conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence.
ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day, For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro’ the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued; He gaz’d, he wish’d...
This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure drop The Day must follow too. If we demur,...
I went in the fields with the leisure I got, The stranger might smile but I heeded him not, The hovel was ready to screen from a shower, And the book in my pocket was read in an hour.
I peeled bits of straws and I got switches too From the grey peeling willow as idlers do, And I switched at the flies as I sat all alone Till my flesh, blood, and marrow was turned to dry bone.
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it...
The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I,...
IT was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light, I held awa to Annie; The time flew by, wi’ tentless heed, Till, ’tween the late and early, Wi’ sma’ persuasion she agreed To see me thro’ the barley.
Most truly honoured, and as truly dear, If worth in me or ought I do appear, Who can of right better demand the same Than may your worthy self from whom it came?
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green: Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
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