"Friend," quoth Lord Nevil, "thou art young
To face the world, and thou art blind
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"Because I live, ye shall live also."
Calmly the Paschal moonlight now is sleeping
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O take away your dried and painted garlands!
The snow-cloth's fallen from each quicken'd brow,
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And must I wear a silken life,
Hemmed in by city walls?
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A wave-worn boulder, with green sea-moss wrapping
A silken mantle o'er its jagged sides;
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Over the smooth lawns, broider'd with violets,
Over the hedges of snow-white thorn,
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"The Spirit of man is the candle of the Lord."
"The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God."
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One winter eve, at twilight, when the sound
Of sorrowful winds scarce troubled Nature's rest,
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All the wild waves rock'd in shadow,
And the world was dim and grey,
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"He asked life of thee, and thou gavest him a long life, even for ever and ever."
Life--length of days--the time to work and strive
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"Thou waterest her furrows, thou sendest rain into the little valleys thereof; thou makest it soft with the drops of rain, and blessest the increase of
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Is the morning dim and cloudy? Does the wind drift up the leaves?
Is there mist upon the mountains, where the sun shone yesterday?
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Low he lay upon his dying couch, the knight without a stain,
The unconquered Cid Campeadór, the bright breastplate of Spain,
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"And unto Adam He said .... cursed is the ground for thy sake. Thorns .... shall bring it forth."
"And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns
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My skies were blue, and my sun was bright,
And, with fingers tender and strong and light,
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Ay, many and many a year's gone by,
Since the dawn of that day in spring,
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Learn, learn, learn,--
Our beautiful world is not a field for sheep;
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'Twas long ago, in the summer-time,
On a day as sad as this,
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The dawn of God’s dear Sabbath
Breaks o’er the earth again,
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O for wings! that I might soar
A little way above the floor,
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The snow falls soft and thick. My cedar bough
Sways up and down, and scratches on the glass.
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Is it a will-o'-the-wisp, or is dawn breaking,
That our horizon wears so strange a hue?
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I.
Fallen the lofty halls, where vassal crowds
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An Incident of the French Revolution.
THE light lay trembling in a silver bar
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O time, great Healer! canst thou still
The crying hearts that feel the knife?
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Watchman, what of the night?
See you a streak of light?
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A summer wind blows through the open porch,
And, 'neath the rustling eaves,
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O Lord, I am so tired!
My heart is sick and sore.
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Why should we court the storms that rave and rend,
Safe at our household hearth?
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