This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1881 Excerpt: ...Of scenes that are no more, And scan the once-loved forms that dwell On Mem'ry's shadowy shore; Again the little cot to deck, That now so empty stands, Again to feel around her neck The touch of tiny hands. How long, the weary spirit cries, Within this world of pain, Ere 'neath the never-fading skies I meet them once ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1881 Excerpt: ...Of scenes that are no more, And scan the once-loved forms that dwell On Mem'ry's shadowy shore; Again the little cot to deck, That now so empty stands, Again to feel around her neck The touch of tiny hands. How long, the weary spirit cries, Within this world of pain, Ere 'neath the never-fading skies I meet them once again? And as she views the silver night, Slow sweeping to the west A murmured prayer in faith takes flight To Him who giveth rest. THE CRY OF THE HUMAN. MRS. BROWNING. "There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow;" And nature oft, the cry of faith, In bitter need will borrow; Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, " God be praised." Be pitiful, 0 God! The tempest stretches from the steep The shadow of t s coming; The beasts grow tame, and near us creep, As help were in the human: Yet while the cloud-wheels roll and grind We spirits tremble under!--The hills have echoes; but we find No answer for the thunder. Be pitiful, O God! The battle hurtles on the plains--Earth feels new scythes upon her; We reap our brothers for the wains, And call the harvest.. honor, --Draw face to face, front line to line, One imago all inherit, --Then kill, curse on, by that same sign, Clay, clay, --and spirit, spirit. Be pitiful, O God! The plague runs festering through the town, And never a bell is tolling; And corpses jostled 'neath the moon, Nod to the dead-cart's rolling. The young child callcth for the cup--The strong man brings it weeping, The mother from her babe looks up, And shrieks away its sleeping. Be pitiful, O God. The plague of gold strides far and near, And deep and strong it enters; This purple chimar which we ...
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Add this copy of Social Readings and Recitations to cart. $46.69, good condition, Sold by Bonita rated 4.0 out of 5 stars, ships from Newport Coast, CA, UNITED STATES, published 2011 by Nabu Press.