The Educator-journal, Том 7Educator-journal Company, 1906 |
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Стр. 221 - But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind. With tranquil restoration...
Стр. 137 - TO him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Стр. 154 - To live content with small means, to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion ; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to...
Стр. 223 - I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world no doubt, Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about...
Стр. 204 - One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.
Стр. 137 - For Nature beats in perfect tune, And rounds with rhyme her every rune, Whether she work in land or sea, Or hide underground her alchemy. Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar...
Стр. 195 - LET me but do my work from day to day, In field or forest, at the desk or loom, In roaring market-place, or tranquil room ; Let me but find it in my heart to say, When vagrant wishes beckon me astray, "This is my work; my blessing, not my doom : Of all who live, I am the one by whom This work can best be done, in the right way.
Стр. 220 - Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
Стр. 221 - For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. And whether it will heave us up to land, Or whether it will roll us out to sea, Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, t We know not, and no search will make us know ; Only the event will teach us in its hour.