Millicent; or, The trials of life, by the author of 'The curate of Overton'.

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Hurst and Blackett, 1855

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Page 51 - Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile! it answers — Yes.
Page 111 - Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.
Page 111 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 163 - Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act, — act in the living present! Heart within, and GOD o'erhead!
Page 156 - There stands the messenger of truth ; there stands The legate of the skies ; his theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear. By him the violated law speaks out Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.
Page 188 - Buds were blowing, waters flowing, Birds were singing' on the tree, Everything was bright and glowing, When the angels came for thee. Death had laid aside his terror, And he found thee calm and mild, Lying in thy robes of whiteness, Like a pure and stainless child. Hardly had the...
Page 219 - Than every free-born glance confessed The guileless movements of her breast; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion poured a prayer, Or tale of injury called forth The indignant spirit of the North. One only passion unrevealed, With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame— Oh! need I tell that passion's name! xx Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne: "Father!" she...
Page 51 - Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learn'd at last submission to my lot ; But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
Page 188 - Dwelling in the land of glory With the saints and angels now. Brighter, fairer far than living, With no trace of woe or pain, Robed in everlasting beauty, Shall I see thee once again, By the light that never fadeth, Underneath eternal skies, When the dawn of resurrection Breaks o'er deathless Paradise.
Page 4 - All who knew, envied ; yet in envy loved : Can fancy form more finish'd happiness ? Fix'd was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome Rose on the sounding beach. The glittering spires Float in the wave, and break against the shore : So break those glitt'ring shadows, human joys.

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