Magnolia Leaves quotes

The Petrel soars aloft, Wailing her hymn of death, And the dirgelike sounds pierce the blackened sky, While the crew send forth one anguished cry, Sinking to lowest depth.

Some ships go out to sea That never more return,

Souls that from heaven in infancy come, Tarnished and ruined by sin may become, Like the Dove to the Ark they never return, But sink as ship to doom.

What part in the world of pleasure? What holidays are her own?

For the rich reck not of privations and tears, Saying, “she is to the manor born.”

So dry those scalding tears That furrow so deeply thy cheek, For rest—rest—rest Will come at the end of the week.

Then hail! bright, sunny land! Home of the free, the brave! From the eastern shores to the western plains, Let thy banner proudly wave. Nations beyond the seas Shall worship at thy shrine; Honor and wealth, and matchless power, Columbia! be thine.

“Cast down your bucket where you are,”

From burning sands or Polar star From where the iceberg rears its head Or where the kingly palms outspread; ’Mid blackened fields or golden sheaves, Or foliage green, or autumn leaves, Come sounds of warning from afar, “Cast down your bucket where you are.”

But ah! the cry of war, broke o’er the land.

Cruel War, that rends the households and the hearts;

That makes fond bosoms bleed; and waters all The sod with tears, Salty, agonizing tears, which, When they dry, leave furrows never healing.— Sorrows, never ceasing.

The seeds matured on thy Dear bosom, nourished by thine own mortality, Pushed their way to the sunlight of earth, To Cheer and to ’mind of faithful love,

Love which lasts even after the gates of Death are passed.

Then he wailed the whole Day long: Come, O! come! Uranne, come! Like my flowers, leave your bed, too dark too Drear for thee. Uranne, come to me! Or I will come to thee!

Magnolia! “

Pale city of the dead

,” Adown thy gravelled walks I tread, Thy marble pillars looming high, Thy polished shafts around me lie. With soft, mild rays, the winter sun Thy tortuous pathways doth illume, The weeping-willow droops its head, To crown the “City of the Dead.”

And here an infant’s grave I see, Ere sin could stain its purity, It plumed its wings and upward soared, To live forever with its God.

Though fair the earth, it would not stay, Much fairer still the land away.

Restrain me not, for I would go Where crystal fountains endless flow.

Under his own, his fruitful vine, Beneath his laden fig tree green, He, like a king, would reign. Bending low with purple yield, Rivalling fair Eschkol’s fields, He’d a potent influence wield, With his corn and wine.

Can I forget thee? No, while mem’ry lasts,

Thine image like a talisman entwined, Around my heart by sacred friendship’s ties Remains unchanged, in love, pure love, enshrined.

Can I forget thee? ’Tis a sad, sad thought, That friend from friend should thus be ruthless riven— But list, methinks, a sweet voice whispers low,

Remember, no adieus are spoke in heaven.

Can I forget thee? No, though ocean’s waves May madly leap and foam ’twixt you and me, Still o’er my stricken heart this yearning will remain, Nor time estrange my love, dear one, from thee.

For to-night is our Woman’s Convention, And I am to speak first, you know—

The men veto us in private, But in public they shout, “That’s so.”

So “bye-bye”—In case of a rap, love, Before opening the door, you must look; O! how could a civilized woman Exist, without a man cook.

So “bye-bye”—In case of a rap, love, Before opening the door, you must look;

O! how could a civilized woman Exist, without a man cook.

Come Peace, on snowy pinions, Come, nestle like a dove; Encircle earth’s dominions With harmony and love. Let anger, pride and malice, And strife forgotten lie; Nor from their venomed chalice, Quaff more bitter draughts and die.

Yon may speak of a grave in a distant land, Or of one ’neath ocean’s foam, Where the dolphins play o’er the sunny spray, Far from the dear old home; Where the coral peaks form a glorious tomb, And the mighty waters lave,

But there is naught in the wide world sought Like the heart’s deep anguished grave.

You may tell of a grave ’neath the burning sands Of the tropics fevered zone; Where silence reigns o’er the desert plains So desolate, so forlorn.

The Past, it is saddening! full many a loved one That joined in each pleasure, partook of each pain, Have passed on before, to the spirit land flown, And left us below, till their prize we attain.

The Past’s irrevocable! every word we’ve spoken,

Or action committed, been stamp’d with its seal Immortal, enduring, ’twill stand sure forever, As no time can efface, nor effulgence reveal.