Littell´s Living Age, Vol. 15 (Classic Reprint)
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| Partner: | buecher.de |
| Hersteller: | Forgotten Books (Author, Unknown) |
| Stand: | 2015-08-04 03:50:33 |
Produktbeschreibung
Excerpt from Littell´s Living Age, Vol. 15 The Way By Which He Led Thee When we reach a quiet dwelling On the strong, eternal hills, And our praise to Him is swelling Who the vast creation fills; When the paths of prayer and duty, And affliction, all are trod, And we wake, and see the beauty Of our Saviour and our God: - With the light of resurrection, When our changed bodies glow, And we gain the full perfection Of the bliss begun below; When the life that flesh obscureth In each radiant form shall shine, And the joy that aye endureth Flashes forth in beams divine: - While we have the palms of glory Through the long eternal years, Shall we e´er forget the story Of our mortal griefs and fears? Shall wee er forget the sadness And the clouds that hung so dim, When our hearts are filled with gladness, And our tears are dried by him? Shall the memory be banished Of his kindness and his care, When the wants and woes are vanished Which he loved to soothe and share? All the way by which he led us, All the grievings which he bore; All the patient love he taught us, Shall we think of them no more? 1 Yes! we surely shall remember How he quickened us from death - How he fanned the dying ember With his spirit´s glowing breath: We shall read the tender meaning Of the sorrows and alarms, As we trod the desert, leaning On his everlasting arms. And his rest will be the dearer When we think of weary ways, And his light will seem the clearer As we muse on cloudy days, Oh, ´twill be a glorious morrow To a dark and stormy day! We shall recollect our sorrow, As the dreams that pass away. Little Shoes And Stockings. Little shoes and stockings! What a tale ye speak, Of the swollen eyelid, And the tear-wet cheek! Of the nightly vigil, And the daily prayer; Of the buried darling. Present everywhere. Brightly plaided stockings, Of the finest wool; Rounded feet and dainty, Each, a stocking full; Tiny shoes of crimson, Shoes that nevermore Will awaken echoes, From the toy-strewn floor. Not the wealth of Indies, Could your worth eclipse, Priceless little treasures, Pressed to whitened lips; As the mother nurses, From the world apart, Leaning on the arrow That has pierced her heart, Head of flaxen ringlets; Eyes of heavens blue, Parted mouth - a rosebud - Pearls, just peeping through; Soft arms softly twining Round her neck at eve, Little shoes and stockings, These the dreams ye weave. Weave her yet another Of the world of bliss, Let the stricken mother Turn away from this; Bid her dream believing Little feet await, Watching for her passing Through the pearly gate. - Congregational Herald. The Brave At Home. By T.Buchanan Read. The maid who binds her warrior´s sash, With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry teardrop hangs and trembles. Though Heaven alone records the tear, And Fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As
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