English With Mrs. Pierce



The Cross of SnowBy: Henry Wadsworth LongfellowIn the long, sleepless watches of the night,A gentle face--the face of one long dead--Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.Here in this room she died, and soul more whiteNever through martyrdom of fire was ledTo its repose; nor can in books be readThe legend of a life more benedight.There is a mountain in the distant WestThat, sun-defying, in its deep ravinesDisplays a cross of snow upon its side.Such is the cross I wear upon my breastThese eighteen years, through all the changing scenesAnd seasons, changeless since the day she died.The Cross of SnowBy: Henry Wadsworth LongfellowIn the long, sleepless watches of the night,A gentle face--the face of one long dead--Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.Here in this room she died, and soul more whiteNever through martyrdom of fire was ledTo its repose; nor can in books be readThe legend of a life more benedight.There is a mountain in the distant WestThat, sun-defying, in its deep ravinesDisplays a cross of snow upon its side.Such is the cross I wear upon my breastThese eighteen years, through all the changing scenesAnd seasons, changeless since the day she died.The Chambered NautilusBy: Oliver Wendell Holmes SrThis is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,?Sails the unshadowed main,—?The venturous bark that flings?On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings?In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,?And coral reefs lie bare,?Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.?Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;?Wrecked is the ship of pearl!?And every chambered cell,?Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,?As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,?Before thee lies revealed,—?Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!?Year after year beheld the silent toil?That spread his lustrous coil;?Still, as the spiral grew,?He left the past year’s dwelling for the new,?Stole with soft step its shining archway through,?Built up its idle door,?Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.?Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,?Child of the wandering sea,?Cast from her lap, forlorn!?From thy dead lips a clearer note is born?Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!?While on mine ear it rings,?Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—?Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,?As the swift seasons roll!?Leave thy low-vaulted past!?Let each new temple, nobler than the last,?Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,?Till thou at length art free,?Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!To a WaterfowlBy: William Cullen Bryant Whither, 'midst falling dew,?While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,?Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue?Thy solitary way??Vainly the fowler’s eye?Might mark thy distant flight, to do thee wrong,?As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,?Thy figure floats along.?Seek’st thou the plashy brink?Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,?Or where the rocking billows rise and sink?On the chaféd ocean side??There is a Power, whose care?Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—?The desert and illimitable air?Lone wandering, but not lost.?All day thy wings have fanned,?At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;?Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,?Though the dark night is near.?And soon that toil shall end,?Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,?And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,?Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest.?Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven?Hath swallowed up thy form, yet, on my heart?Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,?And shall not soon depart.?He, who, from zone to zone,?Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,?In the long way that I must trace alone,?Will lead my steps aright.The Worship of NatureBy: John Greenleaf WhittierThe harp at Nature’s advent strung???????Has never ceased to play;?The song the stars of morning sung???????Has never died away.?And prayer is made, and praise is given,???????By all things near and far;?The ocean looketh up to heaven,???????And mirrors every star.?Its waves are kneeling on the strand,???????As kneels the human knee,?Their white locks bowing to the sand,???????The priesthood of the sea!?They pour their glittering treasures forth,???????Their gifts of pearl they bring,?And all the listening hills of earth???????Take up the song they sing.?The green earth sends its incense up???????From many a mountain shrine;?From folded leaf and dewy cup???????She pours her sacred wine.?The mists above the morning rills???????Rise white as wings of prayer;?The altar-curtains of the hills???????Are sunset’s purple air.?The winds with hymns of praise are loud,???????Or low with sobs of pain,—?The thunder-organ of the cloud,???????The dropping tears of rain.?With drooping head and branches crossed???????The twilight forest grieves,?Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost???????From all its sunlit leaves.?The blue sky is the temple’s arch,???????Its transept earth and air,?The music of its starry march???????The chorus of a prayer.?So Nature keeps the reverent frame???????With which her years began,?And all her signs and voices shame???????The prayerless heart of man.The SearchBy: James Russell LowellI went to seek for Christ,?And Nature seemed so fairThat first the woods and fields my youth enticed,?And I was sure to find him there:?The temple I forsook,?And to the solitudeAllegiance paid; but Winter came and shookThe crown and purple from my wood;?His snows, like desert sands, with scornful drift,?Besieged the columned aisle and palace-gate;?My Thebes, cut deep with many a solemn rift,?But epitaphed her own sepulchred state:?Then I remembered whom I went to seek,?And blessed blunt Winter for his counsel bleak.Back to the world I turned,?For Christ, I said, is King;?So the cramped alley and the hut I spurned,?As far beneath his sojourning:?Mid power and wealth I sought,?But found no trace of him,?And all the costly offerings I had broughtWith sudden rust and mould grew dim:?I found his tomb, indeed, where, by their laws,?All must on stated days themselves be imprison,?Mocking with bread a dead creed's grinning jaws,?Witless how long the life had thence arisen;?Due sacrifice to this they set apart,?Prizing it more than Christ's own living heart.So from my feet the dustOf the proud World I shook;?Then came dear Love and shared with me his crust,?And half my sorrow's burden took.After the World's soft bed,?Its rich and dainty fare,?Like down seemed Love's coarse pillow to my head,?His cheap food seemed as manna rare;?Fresh-trodden prints of bare and bleeding feet,?Turned to the heedless city whence I came,?Hard by I saw, and springs of worship sweetGushed from my cleft heart smitten by the same;?Love looked me in the face and spake no words,?But straight I knew those footprints were the Lord's.I followed where they led,?And in a hovel rude,?With naught to fence the weather from his head,?The King I sought for meekly stood;?A naked, hungry childClung round his gracious knee,?And a poor hunted slave looked up and smiledTo bless the smile that set him free;?New miracles I saw his presence do, -No more I knew the hovel bare and poor,?The gathered chips into a woodpile grew,?The broken morsel swelled to goodly store;?I knelt and wept: my Christ no more I seek,?His throne is with the outcast and the weak.? ................
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