Lay down the axe; fling by the spade; Leave in its track the toiling plough; The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Alas! to seize the moment When the heart inclines to heart, And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part.… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The blacks of this region are a cheerful, careless, dirty, race, not hard worked, and in many respects indulgently treated. It is… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
A silence, the brief Sabbath of an hour, Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,… — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel To clasp the boughs above. — William C. Bryant Copy Share Image
