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10,344 results · Page 18 of 431Play this collection ▷
04In print by 1888 AD
There is a poor Blind Man, who every day, In summer sunshine, or in winter’s rain, Duly as tolls the bell to the high fane, Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way, To kneel before his Maker, and to hear The chanted service pealing full and clear. Ask why, alone, in the same spot he kneels Through the long year? Oh! the wide world is cold, As dark to him; here, he no longer feels His sad bereavement—Faith and Hope uphold His heart—he feels not he is poor and blind, Amid the unpitying tumult of mankind: As thro’ the aisles the choral anthems roll, His soul is in the choirs above the skies, And songs, far off, of angel companies. Oh! happy, if the Rich—the Vain—the Proud— The plumed Actors in life’s motley crowd,— Since pride is dust, and life itself a span,— Would learn one Lesson from a poor Blind Man.
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06In print by 1888 AD
O ye, whom, struggling on life’s craggy road, With obstacles and dangers, secret foes Supplant, false friends betray, disastrous rage Of elements, of war, of civil broil Brings down to Poverty’s cold floor, while grief Preys on the heart, and dims the sinking eye; Faint not! There is, who rules the storm, whose hand Feeds the young ravens, nor permits blind chance To close one sparrow’s flagging wing in death. Trust in the rock of ages. Now, even now He speaks, and all is calm. Or if, to prove Your inmost soul, the hurricane still spread Its licensed ravages. He whispers hope, Earnest of comfort; and through blackest night Bids keen-eyed Faith on heaven’s pure sunshine gaze, And learn the glories of her future home.
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09In print by 1888 AD
“Peace,” shall the world outwearied ever see Its universal reign? Will states, will kings, Put down these murderous and unholy things, Which fill the earth with blood and misery? Will nations learn that love—not enmity— Is heaven’s first lesson—which beneath the wings Of mercy, brooding over land and sea, Fills earth with joy by its soft ministerings? ’Twere a sad prospect—’twere a vista dark As midnight—could this wearied mortal eye, Through the dim mists that veil futurity, Discern not that heaven-bright though distant spark, Lighted by prophecy, whose ray sublime Sheds a soft gleam of hope o’er the dull path of time. I hate that noisy drum, it is a sound That tells of war, of bondage, and I blush That liberty had ever cause to rush Into a warrior’s arms; that right e’er found Asylum in the furious field. Not so The holy crowns of genuine glory grow; Not there should they who bear the badge serene Of Him who was the Prince of Peace, be seen; Can such His faithful followers be?—Oh no! His laurels are not drenched in blood,—but green And beautiful as spring:—His arms are love And mercy and forgiveness; and with them He rules the nations’ mighty destinies And gently leads us to our homes above.
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12In print by 1888 AD
With ineffectual toil, the Pow’r Supreme I sought along the mead which flow’rets bore; Thro’ a dense woodland;—by a mazy stream;— On heights;—in valleys;—by the wavy shore; Nor God I found within the solar beam; Nor in night’s radiance. What I could explore, I saw, with proofs of His existence teem; His certain stamp it had, but nothing more! But thou, Religion! can’st unveil His face! Shall, then, man’s bosom feel no love for thee, And seek thee not within thy hallow’d place? How clearly there the eye of Faith can see The ever-living God of Truth—Love—Grace! There man can learn to meet Eternity!
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15In print by 1888 AD
What highest prize hath woman won In science or in art? What mightiest work by woman done, Boasts city, field, or mart? “She hath no Raphael,” Painting saith; “No Newton,” Learning cries; Show us her Steam-ship! her Macbeth, Her thought-won victories! Hail boastful man! though worthy are Thy deeds when thou art true, Things worthier still and holier far, Our sister yet will do; For this the worth of woman shows, On every peopled shore, That still as man in wisdom grows, He honours her the more. Oh! not for wealth, or fame, or pow’r, Hath man’s weak angel striven, But silent as the growing flower, To make of earth a heav’n! And in her garden of the sun, Heaven’s brightest rose shall bloom; For woman’s best is unbegun! Her advent yet to come.
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21c. 1736 AD
Regimen is better than physic. Every one should be his own physician. We ought to assist, and not to force nature: but more especially we should learn to suffer, grow old, and die. Some things are salutary, and others hurtful. Eat with moderation what you know by experience agrees with your constitution. Nothing is good for the body but what we can digest. What medicine can procure digestion? Exercise. What will recruit strength? Sleep. What will alleviate incurable evils? Patience.
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