The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler: With a Memoir of Her Life and Character

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Sida 11 - Though I speak with the tongues of men and of Angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Sida 10 - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
Sida 98 - If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! — No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
Sida 38 - Lucy had (and it was a consolation) clung to the belief that, despite of appearances and his own confession, his past life had not been such as to place him without the pale...
Sida 62 - THINK of our country's glory, All dimm'd with Afric's tears— Her broad flag stained and gory, With the hoarded guilt of years. Think of the frantic mother, Lamenting for her child, Till falling lashes smother Her cries of anguish wild!
Sida 78 - She laid her hand upon her heart; her eye flash'd proud and clear, And firmer grew her haughty tread—" My lord is hidden here ! " And if ye seek to view his form, ye first must tear away, From round his secret dwelling place these walls of living clay!
Sida 69 - Thou shall have fame ! Oh, mockery ! give the reed From storms a shelter — give the drooping vine Something round which its tendrils may entwine — Give the parched flower a rain-drop, and the meed Of love's kind words to woman!
Sida 72 - X, summed up in the latter's injunction that "not only the Christian religion, but that Nature herself cried out against a state of slavery.
Sida 114 - The inhuman scourge was tried, Till the tears that ceased to flow, Were with redder drops supplied ! And can you behold unmoved, All the crushing weight of grief, That her aching heart has proved, Seeking not to yield relief? Are not woman's pulses warm, Beating in...
Sida 113 - T is for these she wildly grieves ! Now all scatter'd o'er the earth, Like the wind-strewn autumn leaves ! E'en her babes, so dear, so young, And so treasured in her heart, That the chords which round them clung Seem'd its life, its dearest part— These, ev'n these, were torn away! These, that when all else were gone, Cheer'd her heart with one bright ray, That still bade its pulse beat on.

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