 | 1822 - 298 pages
...the infinite host 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...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... | |
 | 1822 - 764 pages
...the infinite host 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...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... | |
 | 1857 - 1196 pages
...those of death ; or rather, the inspiration of the former is everywhere consecrated by the latter. " Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods M'here rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings, — yet — the dead are there... | |
 | 1822 - 758 pages
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 | John Pierpont - 1823 - 492 pages
...infinite host of heaven, , Are ginning on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the...lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, 22 * 2S8 THE AMERICAN (Lew<ra 11T. Save his own dashings — yet — the... | |
 | Vicesimus Knox - 1825 - 426 pages
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 | 1825 - 426 pages
...the infinite host 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. So -l..ni thou rest — and what if thou shall fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend Take... | |
 | 1825 - 412 pages
...infinite host of heaven. Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through tile still lapse of ages. AU that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. So shall thou rest — and what if thou shah fall Unnoticed by the living — and no friend Take note... | |
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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... 
