 | William Cullen Bryant - 1847 - 520 strani
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous... | |
 | William Harvey Wells - 1847 - 228 strani
...counsels to nought." — Bancroft. " Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God." — Coleridge. " Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings." — Bryant. " The oak Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould." — Ibid. " A nd see where... | |
 | 1848 - 272 strani
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages — all that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber...in its bosom — take the wings Of morning, and the Barean desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hear no sounds... | |
 | 1848 - 276 strani
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous... | |
 | 1849 - 472 strani
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there : And millions in... | |
 | William Cullen Bryant - 1847 - 390 strani
...lapse of ages. All that tread s ty~^ cvv S The globe are but a handful to the tribes ' c " ? J1 ^ C. That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there : And millions in... | |
 | 1850 - 264 strani
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there, And millions in those... | |
 | Truman Rickard, Hiram Orcutt - 1850 - 130 strani
...of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 50 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the... | |
 | George Burgess - 1850 - 348 strani
...the past; and the mind will grasp the superior number of the dead beyond the living. " All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." The surface of the earth, so far as it is dry land, is estimated at nearly forty millions of square... | |
 | George Burgess - 1850 - 362 strani
...past ; and the mind will grasp the superior number of the dead beyond the living. " All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom." The surface of the earth, so far as it is dry land, is estimated at nearly forty millions of square... | |
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Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread... 
