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" The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. "
A Free Lance in the Field of Life and Letters - Página 211
por William Cleaver Wilkinson - 1874 - 340 páginas
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Specimens of the American Poets

1822 - 298 páginas
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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The Inquirer, Volume 1

1822 - 764 páginas
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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The American First Class Book, Or, Exercises in Reading and Recitation

John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 páginas
...tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....handful to the tribes . •„ That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings . . Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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The United States Literary Gazette, Volume 1

1825 - 426 páginas
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death. Through the still lapse of ages....are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So -l..ni thou rest — and what if thou shall fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend...
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The United States Literary Gazette, Volume 1

1825 - 412 páginas
...infinite host of heaven. Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through tile still lapse of ages. AU that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So shall thou rest — and what if thou shah fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend...
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English Grammar: With an Improved Syntax. Part I. Comprehending at One View ...

John March Putnam - 1828 - 200 páginas
...earth without a vestige ;— Heaven decrees It shall be otherwise, and I submit. THANATOPSIS- BRYANT. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosoro. — Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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Kettell, Samuel: Specimens of American Poetry...

1829 - 436 páginas
...great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous...
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Sermons, Volume 1

Cornelius Roosevelt Duffie - 1829 - 444 páginas
...ocean, all, Are the great tomb of man ; And all the planetary host of heaven Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages....are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. ——Millions — since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last...
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The Edinburgh Literary Journal: Or, Weekly Register of Criticism ..., Volume 2

1829 - 514 páginas
...great tomb of man. The golden tun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages—...are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the contiguous woods,...
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Specimens of American Poetry: With Critical and Biographical ..., Volume 3

Samuel Kettell - 1829 - 432 páginas
...of heaven, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread Are shining on the sad abodes of death, The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber...in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no...
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