Ivy

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Frederick Warne and Company, 1881 - Juvenile fiction, English - 282 pages
 

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Page 30 - HARK ! hark, my soul ! Angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore : How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling Of that new life when sin shall be no more! Angels of Jesus, Angels of light, Singing to welcome The pilgrims of the night. 2 Onward we go, for still we hear them singing. " Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come ; " And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing, The music of the Gospel leads us home.
Page 30 - Rest comes at length, though life be long and dreary ; The day must dawn and darksome night be past ; All journeys end in welcome to the weary, And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last.
Page 271 - Tis Jesus, the first and the last, Whose Spirit shall guide us safe home ; We'll praise him for all that is past, And trust him for all that's to come.
Page 149 - DO ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years ? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing toward the west : But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly ! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free.
Page 227 - tis past ! but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow : 'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died ; And memory flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.
Page 222 - O GoD, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.
Page 269 - HARK! hark, my soul; angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields, and ocean's wavebeat shore : How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling Of that new life when sin shall be no more. Angels of Jesus, angels of light, Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night. 2 Onward we go, for still we hear them singing, 'Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come...
Page 72 - Merciful Heaven, Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.
Page 215 - Slacken not sail yet At inlet or island ; Straight for the beacon steer, Straight for the high land ; Crowd all thy canvas on, Cut through the foam — Christian ! cast anchor now — HEAVEN is THY HOME ! 47 IV.— TO A DYING INFANT.
Page 50 - SOME murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue. And some with thankful love are filled, If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy gild The darkness of their night.

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