The Book of Gems: A Gift for All Seasons

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W. H. Fisk, 1854 - 312 pages
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Page 34 - The flocks beside the fence, with heads all prone, And panting quick. The fields, for harvest ripe, No breezes bend in smooth and graceful waves, While with their motion, dim and bright by turns, The sunshine seems to move ; nor e'en a breath Brushes along the surface with a shade Fleeting and thin, like that of flying smoke. The slender stalks their heavy bended heads Support as motionless as oaks their tops. O'er all the woods the topmost leaves are still ; E'en the wild poplar leaves, that, pendent...
Page 288 - Life is a sea, — how fair its face, How smooth its dimpling waters pace, Its canopy how pure! But rocks below, and tempests sleep, Insidious, o'er the glassy deep, Nor leave an hour secure.
Page 148 - ... nevertheless your stolen jewel, which you wanted him to find you, is not forthcoming. Often by some winged word, winged as the thunderbolt is, of a Luther, a Napoleon, a Goethe, shall we see the difficulty split asunder, and its secret laid bare ; while the Irrefragable, with all his logical tools, hews at it, and hovers round it, and finds it on all hands too hard for him.
Page 27 - Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams Would oft around the wild harp play. But soon the bloom of summer fled — In earth and air it shone no more ; Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead, While skies their wintry sternness wore. One day, loud blew the northern blast — The tempest's fury raged along— Oh ! for some angel, as they passed, To shield the harp of heavenly.
Page 36 - And how cold and dim those beams must be, Should life's wretched wanderer come ! But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee, Then turn to the light of home.
Page 36 - And thy hopes may vanish like foam ; But when sails are shivered and rudder lost, Then look to the light of home ; — And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, Thou »h alt see the beacon bright ; For never, till shining on thy shroud, Can be quenched its holy light.
Page 34 - The fields are still; The husbandman has gone to his repast, And, that partaken, on the coolest side Of his abode, reclines, in sweet repose. Deep in the shaded stream the cattle stand, The flocks beside the fence, with heads all prone, And panting quick. The fields, for harvest ripe, No breezes bend in smooth and graceful waves, While with their motion, dim and bright by turns, The sunshine seems to move ; nor e'en a breath Brushes along the surface with a shade Fleeting and thin, like that of flying;...
Page 291 - Onward, then, conscientious youth ! raise thy standard and nerve thyself for goodness. If God has given thee intellectual power, awaken it in that cause ; never let it be said of thee, he helped to swell the tide of sin, by pouring his influence into its channels. If thou art feeble in...
Page 30 - Go fling a fetter o'er the mind, And bid the heart be purer ; Unnerve the warrior's lifted arm, And bid his aim be surer ; Go bid the weary, prisoned bird Unfurl her powerless pinion ; — But ask not of the mind to brook The despot's dark dominion ! Why turn we to our mountain homes With more than filial feeling ? 'Tis here that Freedom's altars rise, And Freedom's sons arc kneeling ! Why sigh we not for softer climes ? Why cling to that which bore us ? 'Tis here we tread on Freedom's soil, With...
Page 12 - BY-PAST HOURS. Go, dream of by-past hours ; In retrospect, once more, Pluck fancy's gayest flowers, , And revel in thy store. Go, seek thy native cot, Scene of affection free, Where pleasure cheered thy lot, Where love was all to thee. Do this, but never tell The heartless world thy dream ; Its scorn would hope dispel, Would crush the fairy theme. Do this, but in thy breast Let each fond wish expire : For sorrows unrepressed Are his who loves the lyre.

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