#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
190 He was weak, and I was strong—the… So He let me lead him in— I was weak, and He was strong the… So I let him lead me—Home.
515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—
364 The Morning after Woe— ’Tis frequently the Way— Surpasses all that rose before— For utter Jubilee—
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
59 A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard—
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
