How We Buried Him. A Tribute To The Memory Of The Late Canon Chesshyre, St. Martin’s, Canterbury. (Henry Alford Poems)
Where thickest on that eastward hill the grassy mounds are piled, We laid him till the glorious morn beside his waiting ...
Where thickest on that eastward hill the grassy mounds are piled, We laid him till the glorious morn beside his waiting ...
Again those heavy tidings. On the breeze Laden with death, they come. A thousand more Stiff on the sod of Tauris: yon ...
Rise, sons of merry England, from mountain and from plain; Let each light up his spirit, let none unmoved remain; The morning ...
Sweetly float o'er town and tower Strains that mark the dawning hour; Soothing, as it glides along, Yon fair stream with tinkling song; Over ...
Alas for England, if her native hearts Were only to be won by stately towers, Or oft--recurring chime of many parts, With lively ...
Herbert and Crashaw, and that other name Now dear as those, of him beneath whose eye Arose ``the second Temple's'' honoured frame, After ...
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