Taking our stand on the immovable rock of Christ’s character we risk nothing in saying that the wine of miracle answered to the wine of nature, and was not intoxicating.
ABRAHAM COLESTaking our stand on the immovable rock of Christ’s character we risk nothing in saying that the wine of miracle answered to the wine of nature, and was not intoxicating.
ABRAHAM COLESO, beautiful and grand, My own, my native land! Of thee I boast: Great empire of the west, The dearest and the best, Made up of all the rest, I love thee most.
ABRAHAM COLESFling out, fling out, with cheer and shout, To all the winds of Our Country’s Banner!
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 COLESEternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?
ABRAHAM COLESBe every bar, and every star, Displayed in full and glorious manner! Blow, zephyrs, blow, keep the dear ensign flying! Blow, zephyrs, sweetly mournful, sighing, sighing, sighing!
ABRAHAM COLESThe power to bind and loose to Truth is given: The mouth that speaks it is the mouth of Heaven
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 COLESThe power, which in a sense belongs to none, Thus understood belongs to every one.
ABRAHAM COLESWho has not seen that feeling born of flame Crimson the cheek at mention of a name?
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 COLESTrue love is humble, thereby is it known; Girded for service, seeking not its own; Vaunts not itself, but speaks in self-dispraise.
ABRAHAM COLESThee, Son Beloved! of plural Unity Essential part, made flesh that mad’st all worlds.
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 COLESPoetry is unfallen speech. Paradise knew no other, for no other would suffice to answer the need of those ecstatic days of innocence.
ABRAHAM COLES