Heart Songs: A Book for the Gift-season

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Miss E. Hedge
Crosby, Nichols, 1856 - 144 pages
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Page 90 - On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Page 90 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 38 - When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of death, Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange — yet who would change, Time's course to slower speeding; When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding ? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness ; And those of Youth, a teeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness.
Page 102 - And her bright-eyed cherub brother, — a serene, angelic pair, — Glide around my wakeful pillow with their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the murmur of the soft rain on the roof. And another comes to thrill me with her eyes
Page 135 - In what state God's other works may be, In their own tasks all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see.
Page 120 - A sigh for others' pain : The breath that soothes a brother's care Is never spent in vain. And though it throb at gentlest touch, Or Sorrow's faintest call, 'Twere better it should ache too much Than never ache at all. The heart, the heart that's truly blest, Is never all its own : No ray of glory lights the breast That beats for self alone.
Page 37 - ... tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light, That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim; Thus she stood amid the stocks, Praising God with sweetest looks: Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean, Where I reap thou shouldst but glean; Lay thy sheaf adown and come, Share my harvest and my home.
Page 37 - But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker ? When joys have lost their bloom and breath And life itself is vapid...
Page 34 - No second morn has ever shone for me; All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. But when the days of golden dreams had perished, And even Despair was powerless to destroy...
Page 33 - Cold in the earth — and fifteen wild Decembers, From those brown hills, have melted into spring: Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers After such years of change and suffering!

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