#Americans
Low in the east, against a white,… The black-lined silhouette of the… And on a wintry waste Of frosted streams and hillsides b… Through thin cloud-films, a pallid…
Not vainly did old poets tell, Nor vainly did old genius paint God’s great and crowning miracle, The hero and the saint! For even in a faithless day
‘BRING out your dead!’ The midn… Heard and gave back the hoarse, lo… Harsh fell the tread of hasty feet… Glanced through the dark the coars… Her coffin and her pall.
Pipes of the misty moorlands, Voice of the glens and hills; The droning of the torrents, The treble of the rills! Not the braes of bloom and heather…
'Midst the men and things which wi… Haunt an old man’s memory still, Drollest, quaintest of them all, With a boy’s laugh I recall Good old Abram Morrison.
How has New England’s romance fle… Even as a vision of the morning! Its rites foredone, its guardians… Its priestesses, bereft of dread, Waking the veriest urchin’s scorni…
Around Sebago’s lonely lake There lingers not a breeze to brea… The mirror which its waters make. The solemn pines along its shore, The firs which hang its gray rock…
STILL in thy streets, O Paris!… Of blood defy the cleansing autumn… Still breaks the smoke Messina’s… And Naples mourns that new Bartho… When squalid beggary, for a dole o…
All day the darkness and the cold Upon my heart have lain, Like shadows on the winter sky, Like frost upon the pane; But now my torpid fancy wakes,
FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX. Stranger and traveller, Drink freely and bestow A kindly thought on her Who bade this fountain flow,
ON RECEIVING A SPRIG… No more these simple flowers belon… To Scottish maid and lover; Sown in the common soil of song, They bloom the wide world over.
A bending staff I would not break… A feeble faith I would not shake, Nor even rashly pluck away The error which some truth may sta… Whose loss might leave the soul wi…
IN Westminster’s royal halls, Robed in their pontificals, England’s ancient prelates stood For the people’s right and good. Closed around the waiting crowd,
So, this is all,—the utmost reach Of priestly power the mind to fett… When laymen think, when women prea… A war of words, a ‘Pastoral Lette… Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes!
Somehow not only for Christmas But all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing