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Página 113 - The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; — The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Página 137 - The Lord of all, himself through all diffused, Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. Nature is but a name for an effect, Whose cause is God.
Página 114 - These temples grew as grows the grass; Art might obey, but not surpass. The passive Master lent his hand To the vast soul that o'er him planned ; And the same power that reared the shrine Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. Ever the fiery Pentecost Girds with one flame the countless host. Trances the heart through chanting choirs, And through the priest the mind inspires.
Página 50 - Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant, barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song, — where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the...
Página 221 - Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished ; neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun.
Página 70 - Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns ; To Him, no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.
Página 134 - Abou Ben Adhem— may his tribe increase! Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. " Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, ' What writest thou?' The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, ' The names of those who love the Lord.
Página 238 - Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ; Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair ; Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child !
Página 197 - This has generally come upon me through repeating my own name two or three times to myself silently, till all at once, as it were, out of the intensity of the consciousness of individuality, the individuality itself seemed to dissolve and fade away into boundless being; and this not a confused state, but the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the surest, the weirdest of the weirdest, utterly beyond words, where death was an almost laughable impossibility, the loss of personality (if so it were)...