 Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings, yet the dead are there...  Poems - Página 32por William Cullen Bryant - 1847 - 371 páginasVisualização integral - Acerca deste livro
 | James Madison MacDonald - 1855 - 396 páginas
...glory. God is present everywhere. There are no solitudes in this universe. No man can ever be alone. " Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save hia own dashings— "* yet, the Lord is there ; " in the void waste... | |
 | William Cullen Bryant - 1855 - 318 páginas
...the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the -wings Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings—yet—the dead are there : And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years... | |
 | 1854 - 748 páginas
...'tis naught to me, Since God is ever present."—(Hymn to the Seasons.) Of morning, and the Barean desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods, Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings ; yet the dead are there."—(Thanatopsis.) "Take... | |
 | Andrew Comstock - 1855 - 444 páginas
...the still lapse of ages, j All that tread The glo&e , | are but : a hand'fulb | to the tribes Thai slumber in its bosom. | Take the wings Of morn'ing, | and the Barcan des>eri ( pierce,, | Or lose thyself in the continuous woods1 Where rolls the Or'egon, | ana! hears... | |
 | 1856 - 518 páginas
...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. Take the wings Of morning,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings ; yet — the dead are there ; And millions in those... | |
 | John Wilson - 1856 - 416 páginas
...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. Take the wings Of morning,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings ; yet the dead are there, And millions in those solitudes,... | |
 | John Wilson - 1856 - 432 páginas
...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. Take the wings Of morning,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings ; yet the dead are there, And millions in those solitudes,... | |
 | Joseph Gostwick - 1856 - 338 páginas
...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. — Take the wings Of morning...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there ; And millions in... | |
 | John Wilson - 1856 - 412 páginas
...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. Take the wings Of morning,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings ; yet the dead are there, And millions in those solitudes,... | |
 | Robert Kemp Philp - 1856 - 388 páginas
...than the mighty sepulchre of the past ; and " All that tread The globe arc but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning,...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet, the dead are there ; .And millions in these... | |
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