The Poetical Works of Jean Ingelow: Reprinted from the Three-volume English Ed., with Many Additions and Biographical Sketch

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T.Y. Crowell, 1894 - 735 ˹
 

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˹ 267 - Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth: and the heavens are the work of thy hands. They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed: But thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end.
˹ 111 - I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies ; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song. "Cusha'! Cusha!
˹ 126 - They are only one times one. 0 moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright! ah bright! but your light is failing You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face? 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place.
˹ 116 - ... Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling To the sandy lonesome shore ; I shall never hear her calling, "Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow ; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot ; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow ; Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow ; . Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head ; Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed.
˹ 113 - Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo ! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide. The...
˹ 133 - I pray you, what is the nest to me, My empty nest ? And what is the shore where I stood to see My boat sail down to the west ? Can I call that home where I anchor yet, Though my good man has sailed ? Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed ? 28 Songs of Seven.
˹ 114 - They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; And I my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, ' O come in life, or come in death ! O lost ! my love, Elizabeth.
˹ 115 - And didst thou visit him no more ? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare! The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.
˹ 398 - So take Joy home, And make a place in thy great heart for her, And give her time to grow, and cherish her; Then will she come, and oft will sing to thee, When thou art working in the furrows; ay, Or weeding in the sacred hour of dawn. It is a comely fashion to be glad, Joy is the grace we say to God.
˹ 111 - THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three ; " Pull, if ye never pulled before ; Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. " Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe

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