#AmericanWriters
A cloud, like that the old-time H… On Carmel prophesying rain, began To lift itself o’er wooded Cardig… Growing and blackening. Suddenly,… Of chill wind menaced; then a stro…
O dearest bloom the seasons know, Flowers of the Resurrection blow, Our hope and faith restore; And through the bitterness of deat… And loss and sorrow, breathe a bre…
To the God of all sure mercies le… From the scoffer and the cruel He… Yes, he who cooled the furnace aro… And tamed the Chaldean lions, hat… Last night I saw the sunset melt…
The clouds, which rise with thunde… Our thirsty souls with rain; The blow most dreaded falls to bre… From off our limbs a chain; And wrongs of man to man but make
A tender child of summers three, Seeking her little bed at night, Paused on the dark stair timidly. ‘Oh, mother! Take my hand,’ said… ‘And then the dark will all be lig…
The new world honors him whose lof… For England’s freedom made her ow… Whose song, immortal as its theme,… Their common freehold while both w…
HEAP HIGH the farmer’s wintr… Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn! Let other lands, exulting, glean
Immortal love, forever full, Forever flowing free, Forever shared, forever whole, A never ebbing sea! Our outward lips confess the name
I shall not soon forget that sight The glow of Autumn’s westering da… A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, On Raphael’s picture lay. It was a simple print I saw,
From pain and peril, by land and m… The shipwrecked sailor came back a… And like one from the dead, the th… Of his wondering home, that had mo… Where he sat once more with his ki…
SECRETARY OF THE BOS… Gone before us, O our brother, To the spirit-land! Vainly look we for another In thy place to stand.
Who, looking backward from his man… Sees not the spectre of his misspe… And, through the shade Of funeral cypress planted thick b… Hears no reproachful whisper on th…
The day is closing dark and cold, With roaring blast and sleety show… And through the dusk the lilacs we… The bloom of snow, instead of flow… I turn me from the gloom without,
A DREAR and desolate shore! Where no tree unfolds its leaves, And never the spring wind weaves Green grass for the hunter’s tread… A land forsaken and dead,
I HEARD the train’s shrill whis… I saw an earnest look beseech, And rather by that look than speec… My neighbor told me all. And, as I thought of Liberty