Etchings and pearls; or, A flower ... planted ... on the grave of Emma Tatham |
Other editions - View all
Etchings and Pearls; Or, a Flower ... Planted ... on the Grave of Emma Tatham J. Cooke Westbrook No preview available - 2019 |
Etchings and Pearls; Or, a Flower ... Planted ... on the Grave of Emma Tatham J. Cooke Westbrook No preview available - 2019 |
Common terms and phrases
affectionate ALBERT ROGERS beam beautiful beloved bird birthday bless blest bliss bosom breast breath bright charmed child Christ Christian Weekly countenance crown daily bread daughter dear departed dear Emma dearest death delighted Dost dying earth earthly joy EMMA TATHAM Emma's eyes father Fcap fear feel flowers following lines fond friendship gentle gifted glory grace GRAY'S INN ROAD hallowed hand happy harp Harpenden hear heart heaven heavenly holy husband hymn Jesus John Cooke JUDD & GLASS kiss lamb lily Lord lov'd love's loveliness lowly Maidenhead Margate Mary meek melody memory mercy seat Miss Tatham morning mother neath never o'er Pearls pray prayer precious Pythagoras Redbourne rose Sabbath Sabbath School Saviour seraph shining singing sister smile soft song soon soul sound of music spirit sweet TATHAM'S Poems tears tender thee thine thou thought thy voice trembling walk weeping Westbrook young friend دو
Popular passages
Page 66 - The world recedes ; it disappears ! Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears With sounds seraphic ring : Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 0 Grave ! where is thy victory ? 0 Death ! where is thy sting ? ALEXANDER POPE.
Page 125 - Midst flaming hosts above ; Whose ranks stood silent, while he drew Nigh to the throne of love, And meekly took the lowest seat, Yet nearest his Redeemer's feet. Thrill'd with ecstatic awe, Entranced our spirits fell, And saw — yet wist not what they saw And heard — no tongue can tell What sounds the ear of rapture caught, What glory fill'd the eye of thought. Thus far above the pole, On wings of mounting fire, Faith may pursue the' enfranchised soul, But soon her pinions tire ; It is not given...
Page 26 - The Lord bless thee, and keep thee : the Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee : the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.
Page 129 - JESUS, thy Blood and Righteousness My beauty are, my glorious dress ; 'Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed, With joy shall I lift up my head.
Page 5 - Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! — Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night : Weep not for her...
Page 60 - Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their...
Page 49 - How are we haunted, in the wind's low tone, By voices that are gone ! Looks of familiar love, that never more, Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our household door, And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet ! Spring ! 'midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees, Why, why revivest thou these ? Vain longings for the dead!
Page 60 - ... flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main, — Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, — The ocean, roaring up the beach,— The gusty blast,— the bickering flames, All mingled vaguely in our speech ; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain, The long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again.
Page 98 - Our hearts of love are full ; And Mary sends the little ones To their dear Sunday School ; And then we go together To God's blest house of prayer, And none but He the comfort knows Which our poor hearts find there. We meet again at dinner, It is a happy meal, 'Tis always baked on Saturday — How thankful do we feel That master pays on Friday, And we can get our meat All nicely cooked and set aside, To be our Sunday treat. Love makes it seem a banquet, And checks each vain desire, And when the homely...
Page 98 - My birthright, and my dower. In this world's thirsty desert, It is a fountain free Of holiness and happiness, To toiling men like me : I wake on Sabbath morning, My sorrows roll away ; My home and young ones now are mine, And I will rest to-day. I look around our dwelling; How clean it is and bright ! What smiling cheeks and curly heads, And pinafores how white ! My Mary setteth out the cups, I need not haste away ; How sweet to linger side by side, And take our time to-day. My young ones climb upon...