Poems of sorrow, death and immortality

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Holt, 1912 - Poetry
 

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Page 3185 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Page 3450 - I saw eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright; And round beneath it, time in hours, days, years, Driv'n by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world And all her train were hurled...
Page 3552 - Abide with me ; fast falls the even-tide ; The darkness deepens ; Lord, with me abide ; When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Page 3541 - Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in thee I find. Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind. Just and holy is thy name; I am all unrighteousness: 30 False and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace.
Page 3265 - MAY I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues.
Page 3193 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Page 3288 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page 3298 - And all their echoes mourn. The Willows, and the Hazel Copses green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft lays.
Page 3468 - He that is down needs fear no fall, He that is low, no pride; He that is humble, ever shall Have God to be his guide.
Page 3301 - Where the great Vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold, — Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth ; And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

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