Sacred and Household Poetry, Gathered from the Highways and Byways

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Moulton & Clark, 1858 - 224 ˹
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˹ 138 - tis Love! Thou diedst for Me, I hear Thy Whisper in my Heart. The Morning breaks, the Shadows flee: Pure UNIVERSAL LOVE Thou art, To me, to All Thy Bowels move, Thy Nature, and Thy Name is LOVE.
˹ 68 - So Moses the servant of the LORD died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the LORD. And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.
˹ 200 - neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came, And lo ! creation widened in man's view.
˹ 70 - Along the emblazoned wall. This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword ; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men.
˹ 141 - 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...
˹ 206 - NOT in the solitude Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see Only in savage wood And sunny vale, the present Deity ; Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty ! here, amidst the crowd, Through the great city rolled, With everlasting murmur deep and loud Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.
˹ 45 - What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
˹ 70 - But when the warrior dieth. His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drum. Follow his funeral car. They show the banners taken. They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed. While peals the minute gun.
˹ 99 - Tis not for man to trifle ! Life is brief, And sin is here. Our age is but the falling of a leaf, A dropping tear. We have no time to sport away the hours, All must be earnest in a world like ours.
˹ 139 - Contented now upon my thigh I halt, till life's short journey end; All helplessness, all weakness, I On thee alone for strength depend, Nor have I power from thee to move; Thy nature and thy name is Love.

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