Eleanor Gone With The Storm And Other Poems

Author : Charlotte M. Griffiths
Publisher : Rarebooksclub.com
ISBN 13 : 9781230054780
Total Pages : 36 pages
Book Rating : 4.0/5 (547 download)

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Download or read book Eleanor, Gone with the Storm, and Other Poems written by Charlotte M. Griffiths and published by Rarebooksclub.com. This book was released on 2013-09 with total page 36 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1874 edition. Excerpt: ...No leaflet withered by its killing breath! No flow'ret snatched away by cruel Death! There leaf and flower will bloom for evermore, For death can never reach yon far-off shore. No tone of sadness stealing through the song! Not one gold harp shall ever be unstrung Or out of tune. Ah, dreary here is life, And weary is my home-sick heart Awake, My sleeping soul! shake off the mantle dark Of selfish grief that now enwraps thee round! Obliviate thy sorrows in the joy Of making others happy. Why should life MY HARP IN HEAVEN. 109 Be dreary, when these sorrows may ere long Be changed for heavenly joys, and this poor harp Give place to one which even now, mayhap, A seraph's tuning for me? If, perchance, The drops which glisten in the rainbow's arch Did flee and hide behind a thick, dark cloud, Where glad sun rays could never penetrate, Where then would be the matchless, glorious tints--The radiant streaks of orange, green, and blue? The rain-drops would again be colourless. Oh! Heavenly Father, let me be a drop Within the rainbow of Thy holy ones! May I be bathed in that effulgent light Of Thine, Great Sun! and make me to reflect Thy graces in a thousand glorious hues; Then, when I am as Thou wouldst have me be, ETHEL. ER little chair is empty, And Willie plays alone, And keeps pausing in his gambols To ask me where she's gone. With wistful ear he listens For her footstep by the door, Her little pattering footstep That will enter nevermore! We shall never feel the pressure Of her little dimpled arm, Faded is the little beam Of warm and sunny light, And our home can neverseem To me again as bright. Hush'd is all her loving prattle! Mute her laughter's silvery tone! Tho' echoes of its music Linger round us now she's gone. But, oh! another...