Along the floors of heaven the music rolls, Fills the vast dome, and lifts our fainting souls: Praise God! Oh praise Him all created things, Praise Him, the Lord of lords, the King of kings ...
The Autumn hills are golden at the top, And rounded as a poet's silver rhyme; The mellow days are ruby ripe, that drop One after one into the lap of time. ...
Under the orchard boughs, That drop red leaves like coals into the grass. The golden arrows of the sunset fall; And on the vine-hung wall Great purple clusters in delicious drowse,...
O not with arms reversed, And the slow beating of the muffled drum, And funeral marches, bring our hero home These stormy woods where his young heart was nursed Ring with a trumpet burst...
Out of the west a voice--a shudder of horror and pity; Quivers along the pulses of all the winds that blow;-- Woe for the fallen queen, for the proud and beautiful city....
"O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy atones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with sapphires. And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy...
Break dull November skies, and make Sunshine over wood and lake, And fill your cells of frosty air With thousand, thousand welcomes to the Princely pair!...
Love and Obedience--these the Higher Law From which Thy worlds have swerved not, singing still Their primal hymn rejoicing, as at first The morning stars together. Hast thou heard,...
In those dark mornings, deep in June, When brooding birds stir in the nest, And heavy dews slip down the leaves, And drop into the rose's breast, I woke and looked into the east,...
I dreamed, and lo, I saw in my dream a beautiful gateway, Arched at the top, and crowned with turrets lance-windowed and olden, And sculptured in arabesque, all knotted and woven and spangled;...
From out the dark of death, before the gates Flung wide, that open into paradise-- More radiant than the white gates of the morn-- A human soul, new-born, Stood with glad wonder in its luminous eyes,...
Moss-grown, and venerable it stands, From the way-side dust and noise aloof, And the great elms stretch their sheltering hands To bless its grey old roof.
I have been where the roses blow, Where the orange ripens its gold, And the mountains stand with their peaks of snow, To fence away the cold, Where the lime and the myrtle lent...
Oh Sea, that with infinite sadness, and infinite yearning Liftest thy crystal forehead toward the unpitying stars,-- Evermore ebbing and flowing, and evermore returning...