#AmericanWriters
Thrice welcome from the Land of F… And golden-fruited orange bowers To this sweet, green-turfed June… To her who, in our evil time, Dragged into light the nation’s cr…
Andrew Rykman’s dead and gone; You can see his leaning slate In the graveyard, and thereon Read his name and date. Trust is truer than our fears
AT THE UNVEILING OF HI… Among their graven shapes to whom Thy civic wreaths belong, O city of his love, make room For one whose gift was song.
As Islam’s Prophet, when his last… Nigh to its close, besought all me… Whom he had wronged, to whom he th… A debt forgotten, or for pardon su… And, through the silence of his we…
'GREAT peace in Europe! Order r… From Tiber’s hills to Danube’s pl… So say her kings and priests; so s… The lying prophets of our day. Go lay to earth a listening ear;
From the hills of home forth looki… Of the sky, I see the white gleam… Well I know its coves and beaches… And the white-walled hamlet childr… Long has passed the summer morning…
GREYSTONE, AUG. 4, 1886. Once more, O all-adjusting Death! The nation’s Pantheon opens wide; Once more a common sorrow saith A strong, wise man has died.
The roll of drums and the bugle’s… Vex the air of our vales-no more; The spear is beaten to hooks of pr… The share is the sword the soldier… Sing soft, sing low, our lowland r…
The Eagle, stooping from yon snow… For the wild hunter and the Bison… In the changed world below; and fi… Their graven semblance in the eter…
Where the Great Lake’s sunny smil… Dimple round its hundred isles, And the mountain’s granite ledge Cleaves the water like a wedge, Ringed about with smooth, gray sto…
I. NOON. White clouds, whose shadows haunt… Light mists, whose soft embraces k… The sunshine on the hills asleep! O isles of calm! O dark, still wo…
Amidst these glorious works of Th… The solemn minarets of the pine, And awful Shasta’s icy shrine,— Where swell Thy hymns from wave a… And organ-thunders never fail,
The firmament breaks up. In black… Light after light goes out. One e… Luridly glaring through the smoke… As in the dream of the Apocalypse… Drags others down. Let us not wea…
Somehow not only for Christmas But all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing
O ARY SCHEFFER! when beneath… Touched with the light that cometh… Grew the sweet picture of the dear… No dream hadst thou that Christia… Therefrom the token of His equal…