#AmericanWriters
O painter of the fruits and flower… We own wise design, Where these human hands of ours May share work of Thine! Apart from Thee we plant in vain
Friend of my many years! When the great silence falls, at l… Let me not leave, to pain and sadd… A memory of tears, But pleasant thoughts alone.
ALL grim and soiled and brown wit… I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, Smiting the godless shrines of man Along his path. The Church, beneath her trembling…
God’s love and peace be with thee,… Soe’er this soft autumnal air Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair… Whether through city casements com… Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms…
She sang alone, ere womanhood had… The gift of song which fills the a… Tender and sweet, a music all her… May fitly linger where she knelt t…
So, this is all, ' the utmost re… Of priestly power the mind to fett… When laymen think, when women prea… A war of words, a ‘Pastoral Lette… Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes!
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…
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…
Oh, praise an’ tanks! De Lord he… To set de people free; An’ massa tink it day ob doom, An’ we ob jubilee. De Lord dat heap de Red Sea wave…
Over the threshold of his pleasant… Set in green clearings passed the… In simple trust, misdoubting not t… ‘Dear heart of mine!’ he said, ‘th… To trust the Lord for shelter.’ O…
On the wide lawn the snow lay deep… Ridged o’er with many a drifted… The wind that through the pine-tre… The naked elm-boughs tossed and sw… While, through the window, frosty-…
THE wave is breaking on the shore… The echo fading from the chime; Again the shadow moveth o’er The dial-plate of time! O seer-seen Angel! waiting now
BEAMS of noon, like burning lanc… As she stands before her lover, wi… Dark, but comely, like the maiden… Scarcely has the toil of task-fiel… He, the strong one and the manly,…
Before my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn, Old dreams and fancies coloring it… And folly’s unlaid ghosts return. O ships of mine, whose swift keels…
BEAR him, comrades, to his grave… Never over one more brave Shall the prairie grasses weep, In the ages yet to come, When the millions in our room,