When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed, And the heart’s secret was at once confessed?
ABRAHAM COLESWhen hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed, And the heart’s secret was at once confessed?
ABRAHAM COLESNone of the prophets old, So lofty or so bold! No form of danger shakes his dauntless breast; In loneliness sublime
ABRAHAM COLESWhere our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight
ABRAHAM COLESHe dares confront the time, And speak the truth, and give the world no rest No kingly threat can cowardize his breath, He with majestic step goes forth to meet his death.
ABRAHAM COLESThe power, which in a sense belongs to none, Thus understood belongs to every one.
ABRAHAM COLESThee, Son Beloved! of plural Unity Essential part, made flesh that mad’st all worlds.
ABRAHAM COLESTrue love is humble, thereby is it known; Girded for service, seeking not its own; Vaunts not itself, but speaks in self-dispraise.
ABRAHAM COLESEternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?
ABRAHAM COLESO most illustrious of the days of time! Day full of joy and benison to earth When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem!
ABRAHAM COLESFling out, fling out, with cheer and shout, To all the winds of Our Country’s Banner!
ABRAHAM COLESWithin a bony labrinthean cave, Reached by the pulse of the aerial wave, This sibyl, sweet, and Mystic Sense is found, Muse, that presides o’er all the Powers of Sound.
ABRAHAM COLESThe power to bind and loose to Truth is given: The mouth that speaks it is the mouth of Heaven
ABRAHAM COLESThe rapturous touch of some divine surpriseFlash deep suffusion of celestial dyes
ABRAHAM COLESWords are freeborn, and not the vassals of the gruff tyrants of prose to do their bidding only. They have the same right to dance and sing as the dewdrops have to sparkle and the stars to shine.
ABRAHAM COLESMuch of our ignorance is of ourselves. Our eyes are full of dust. Prejudice blinds us.
ABRAHAM COLESThe weary Body, longing for repose, On the gained level of the day’s ascent, Halts for the night and pitches there its tent.
ABRAHAM COLES