Our Little Ones in Heaven

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Walter Aimwell
Gould and Lincoln, 1867 - 248 páginas
 

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Página 225 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Página 85 - There is no Death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Página 29 - I have naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.
Página 214 - Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but weep sore for him that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his native country.
Página 26 - Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the wise men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently inquired of the wise men.
Página 34 - But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.
Página 44 - And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side.
Página 21 - ... thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet. For in that he put all in subjection under him, he left nothing that is not put under him. But now we see not yet all things put under him.
Página 42 - ... -A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
Página 241 - I HAD a little daughter, And she was given to me To lead me gently backward To ,the Heavenly Father's knee, That I, by the force of nature, Might in some dim wise divine The depth of his infinite patience To this wayward soul of mine. I know not how others saw her, But to me she was wholly fair, And the light of the heaven she came from Still lingered and gleamed in her hair ; For it was as wavy and golden, And as many changes took, As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples On the yellow bed of a brook.

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