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Religious Poems (1867)
by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Binding: Paperback, 116 pages
Publisher: Kessinger Publishing, LLC
Weight: 0.4 pound
Dimension: H: 0.75 x L: 9 x W: 0.5 inches
ISBN 10: 0548596859
ISBN 13: 9780548596852
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Book Description:
Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE OTHER WORLD. T T lies around us like a cloud, A world we do not see ; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be. Its gentle breezes fan our cheek ; Amid our worldly cares, Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard. The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, They have no power to break ; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake. So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, So near to press they seem, , They lull us gently to our rest, They melt into our dream. And in the hush of rest they bring 'Tis easy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be ; To close the eye, and close the ear, Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And, gently drawn in loving arms, To swoon to that from this, The Other World. 21 Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are, To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us ! watch us still ; Press nearer to our side; Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helpings glide. Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream ; Your joy be the reality, Our suffering life the dream. MARY AT THE CROSS. 'Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother.' WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine ? O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow, And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe! Poor was that home in simple Nazareth Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower, Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly, O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour. The world ...


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