The Sunday Book of Poetry

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Cecil Frances Alexander
Sever and Francis, 1865 - 335 páginas

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Página 2 - Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways, While angels in their songs rejoice, Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air ; His watchword at the gates of death ; He enters Heaven with prayer.
Página 97 - O ! th" exceeding grace Of highest God that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed Angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe ! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant ! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us...
Página 250 - The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled Heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. The unwearied sun, from day to day, Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand.
Página 218 - I heard the voice of Jesus say, " Behold, I freely give The living water ; thirsty one, Stoop down, and drink, and live !" I came to Jesus, and I drank Of that life-giving stream ; My thirst was quenched, my soul revived, And now I live in Him. 3 I heard the voice of Jesus say, " I am this dark world's light ; Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, And all thy day be bright.
Página 111 - A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Página 237 - What would we give to our beloved ? The hero's heart to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep, The patriot's voice to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown to light the brows,— He giveth his beloved sleep...
Página 8 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head...
Página 142 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year...
Página 143 - Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Página 192 - Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.

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