The Writings of James Russell Lowell: Poems

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Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1890
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Passagens conhecidas

Página 293 - Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.
Página 180 - Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side...
Página 137 - No man is born into the world, whose work Is not born with him ; there is always work, And tools to work withal, for those who will; And blessed are the horny hands of toil I The busy world shoves angrily aside The man who stands with arms akimbo set.
Página 59 - BE NOBLE ! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own : Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, Then will pure light around thy path be shed, And thou wilt never more be sad and lone.
Página 45 - Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign ; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee.
Página 301 - I behold in thee An image of Him who died on the tree ; Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, And to thy life were not denied The wounds in the hands and feet and side : Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; Behold, through him, I give to thee...
Página 128 - And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings. We spirits only show to gentle eyes, We ever ask an undivided love, And he who scorns the least of Nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. Farewell! for thou canst never see me more.
Página 250 - The thing we long for, that we are For one transcendent moment, Before the Present poor and bare Can make its sneering comment. Still, through our paltry stir and strife, Glows down the wished Ideal, And Longing moulds in clay what Life Carves in the marble Real...
Página 292 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays...
Página 303 - In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail: Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; This crust is my body broken for thee, This water His blood that died on the tree; The Holy Supper is kept indeed In whatso we share with another's need. Not, what we give, but what we share, — For the gift without the giver is bare: Who gives himself with his alms feeds three. — Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.

Informação bibliográfica