OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/The night of storms has past

VI
The night of storms has past; The sunshine bright and clear Gives glory to the verdant waste, And warms the breezy air.
And I would leave my bed, Its cheering smile to see, To chase the visions from my head, Whose forms have toubled me.
In all the hours of gloom My soul was rapt away; I stood by a marble tomb Where royal corpses lay.
It was just the time of eve, When parted ghosts might come, Above their prisoned dust to grieve And wail their woeful doom.
And truly at my side I saw a shadowy thing, Most dim, and yet its presence there Curdled my blood with ghastly fear And ghastlier wondering. ​My breath I could not draw, The air seemed uncanny; But still my eyes with maddening gaze Were fixed upon its fearful face, And its were fixed on me.
I fell down on the stone, But could [not] turn away; My words died a voiceless moan When I began to pray.
And still it bent above, Its features full in view; It seemed close by and yet more far Than this world from the farthest star That tracks the boundless blue.
Indeed 'twas not the space Of earth or time between, But the sea of deep eternity, The gulf o'er which mortality Has never, never been.
Oh, bring not back again The horror of that hour! When its lips opened and a sound Awoke the stillness reigning round, Faint as a dream, but the earth shrank, And heaven's lights shivered 'neath its power. ​Woe for the day! Regina's pride, Regina's hope is in the grave; And who shall rule my land beside, And who shall save?
Woe for the day! with gory tears My countless sons this day shall rue; Woe for the day! a thousand years Cannot repair what one shall do.
Woe for the day! 'twixt rain and wind That sad lament was ringing; It almost broke my heart to hear Such dreamy, dreary singing.
June 10, 1837, E. J. Brontë.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/The old church tower and garden wall

XXXII
The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain, And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.
I watched how evening took the place Of glad and glorious day; I watched a deeper gloom efface The evening's lingering ray; And as I gazed on the cheerless sky, Sad thoughts rose in my mind.
October 1837.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/The organ swells, the trumpets sound

XLIV
The organ swells, the trumpets sound, The lamps in triumph glow, And none of all those thousand round Regard who sleeps below.
Those haughty eyes that tears should fill Glance clearly, cloudlessly; Those bounding breasts that grief should thrill From thought of grief are free.
His subjects and his soldiers there They blessed his rising bloom, But none a single sigh can spare To breathe above his tomb.
Comrades in arms, I've looked to mark One shade of feeling swell, As your feet stood above the dark Recesses of his cell.
September 30, 1837.
# The Brook (Tennyson)

* "The Brook; an Idyl", in Maud, and other poems (1855)
* "The Brook", in Poems That Every Child Should Know (1904), edited by Mary Elizabeth Burt
# The Broom of Cowdenknowes

* "The Broom of Cowdenknowes", in Mill, mill, o (1817), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "Broom o' Cowdenknowes", in Bessy Bell and Mary Gray (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
# The Bromsgrovian/Volume 5

* Number 1 (December 1885)
* Number 2 (March 1886)
* Number 3 (April 1886)
* Number 4 (June 1886)
* Number 5 (October 1886)
* Number 6 (November 1886)
# The Bromsgrovian/Volume 7

* Number 1 (February 1888)
* Number 2 (May 1888)
* Number 3 (June 1888)
* Number 4 (July 1888)
* Number 5 (October 1888)
* Number 6 (December 1888)
# The Bromsgrovian/Volume 42

* Number 1 (November 1928)
* Number 2 (December 1928)
* Number 3 (March 1929)
* Number 4 (April 1929)
* Number 5 (June 1929)
* Number 6 (August 1929)
# The Bromsgrovian/Volume 9

* Number 1 (29 March 1890)
* Number 2 (11 June 1890)
* Number 3 (15 July 1890)
* Number 4 (30 October 1890)
* Number 5 (12 December 1890)
* Number 6 (26 February 1891)
* Number 7 (4 April 1891)
# The Bromsgrovian/Volume 6

* Number 1 (February 1887)
* Number 2 (March 1887)
* Number 3 (June 1887)
* Number 4 (July 1887)
* Number 5 (October 1887)
* Number 6 (December 1887)
# The Bromsgrovian/Volume 8

* Number 1 (February 1889)
* Number 2 (April 1889)
* Number 3 (June 1889)
* Number 4 (September 1889)
* Restoration of the School Chapel (September 1889)
* Number 5 (December 1889)
* Number 6 (February 1890)
# The Brother's Dirge

* The Brother's Dirge, in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 34, 1833.
* The Brother's Dirge, in National Lyrics, and Songs for Music (Songs of Captivity), 1834.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Loch Lomond

100—LOCH LOMOND
Oh! ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, An' I'll be in Scotland afore ye But me an' my true love will never meet again On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Mary of Argyle

106—MARY OF ARGYLE
I have heard the mavis singing, His love song to the morn; I have seen the dewdrops clinging To the rose just newly born; But a sweeter song has cheered me, At the ev'ning gentle close, And I've seen an eye still brighter Than the dewdrop on the rose; 'Twas they voice, my gentle Mary, And thine artless winning smile, That made this world an Eden, Bonnie Mary of Argyle.
Tho' thy voice may lose its sweetness, And thine eye its brightness too Tho' thy step may lose its fleetness, And thy hair its sunny hue, Still to me thou wilt be dearer Than all the world shall own I have loved thee for thy beauty But not for that alone I have watch'd thy heart, dear Mary, And its goodness was the wile That has made thee mine for ever Bonnie Mary of Argyle.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Little Gray Home of the West

Published 1911 with music by Hermann Lohr
130—LITTLE GRAY HOME OF THE WEST
When the golden sun sinks in the hills, And the toil of a long day is o'er Tho' the road may be long in the lilt of a song, I forget I was weary before. Far ahead where the blue shadows fall, I shall come to contentment and rest, And the toils of a day will be all charmed away, In my little gray home of the West.
There are hands that will welcome me in There are lips I am burning to kiss There are two eyes that shine just because they are mine And a thousand things other men miss It's a corner of Heaven itself, Tho' it's only a tumbled down nest, But with love brooding there Why no place can compare With my little Grey Home in the West.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Lord and Father of Mankind

Adapted by Garrett Horder from Whittier's poem "The Brewing of Soma" .
142—LORD AND FATHER OF MANKIND
Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our feverish ways! Re-clothe us in our rightful mind; In purer lives Thy service find, In deeper reverence, praise.
In simple trust like theirs who heard Beside the Syrian sea, The gracious calling of the Lord, Let us, like them, without a word Rise up and follow Thee.
O Sabbath rest by Galilee! O calm of hills above, Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee The silence of eternity, Interpreted by love!
With that deep hush subduing all Our words and works that drown The tender whisper of Thy call, As noiseless let Thy blessing fall As fell Thy manna down.
Drop Thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease: Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the pulses of desire Thy coolness and Thy balm; Let sense be dumb, its heats expire: Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, O still small voice of calm! Amen.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Mammy's Little Coal Black Rose

Music by Richard A. Whiting.
123—MAMMY'S LITTLE COAL BLACK ROSE
You'd better dry your eyes my little Coal Black Rose, You'd better go to sleep and let those eye-lids close. 'Cause you're dark, don't start a-pinin'. You're a cloud with a silver linin'. Though every old crow thinks h'es babe am white as snow Your dear old mammy knows you're mighty like a rose. And when the angels gave those kinky curls to you They put a sunbeam in your disposition too, that's true, And they just made you dark I s'pose Cos' your heart's so white I guess dear They's none left for the rest dear, So don't you cry, don't you sigh 'Cause you're Mammy's little Coal Black Rose.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Mary

113—MARY
Kind, kind and gentle is she, Kind is my Mary, The tender blossom on the tree, Cannot compare wi' Mary, Her brow is fair as winter's snow, Her cheek's wi' modest roses blow, And dove-like glances sweetly flow, Frae oot the e'en o' Mary, Sae kind, kind and gentle is she, Kind is my Mary, The tender blossom on the tree, Cannot compare wi' Mary.
See yon proud and haughty lass, Her head wi' pride and folly toss'd Ne'er look on her, but let her pass, Be sure it is not Mary, Sae kind, kind and gentle is she, Kind is my Mary, The tender blossom on the tree, Cannot compare wi' Mary.
But see ye one o' modest air, Be deck'd wi' beauty saft and rare, That mak's your heart feel sweetly sair, O weel ye ken my Mary Sae kind, kind and gentle is she, Kind is my Mary, The tender blossom on the tree, Cannot compare wi' Mary.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Let the Great Big World Keep Turning

From The Bing Girls Are There (1917)
13—LET THE GREAT BIG WORLD KEEP TURNING
Let the great big world keep turning,
Never mind if I've got you,
For I only know that I want you so
And there's no one else will do.
You have simply set me yearning
And for ever I'll be true.
Let the great big world keep on turning round
Now I've found some-one like you.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Little Miss Melody

From The Boy (1917).
25—LITTLE MISS MELODY (The Boy)
Little Miss Melody, Wandering fancy free, Over the meadows and hills and dales, Sweet was her voice as the nightingale's, Fair as a maid could be, never a care had she, Life all day long was laughter and song To little Miss Melody.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Love Will Find a Way

From The Maid of the Mountains (1917).
26—LOVE WILL FIND A WAY (The Maid of the Mountains)
What e'er befall I still recall that sunlit mountain side, Where hearts are true, and skies are blue, And Love's the only guide! If faithful to my trust I stay, No fate can fill me with dismay! Love holds the key to set me free, And Love will find a way!
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Luana Lou

From Zig-Zag! (1917)
17—LUANA LOU (Zig-Zag)
Luana Lou, you're my Honolulu, Luana Lou, I love no one but you, You have those wonderful eyes, Just like those wonderful skies, In my heart I've learned to miss you, yearned to kiss you, I hear again that haunting strain, I remember all the things you said to me, Every ember burns in my memory, Can't you see I want you, Luana Lou?
# The Campaign: a Poem to His Grace the Duke of Marlborough

First published in late 1704 (although dated 1705), this poem commemorates the English and Austrian victory in that year over the French at the Battle of Blenheim. The transcription is of an edition from 1710, which varies in a number of respects from the transcription of the first edition at Eighteenth Century Collections Online, Text Creation Partnership
THE
CAMPAIGN:
A
POEM,
To His GRACE the
Duke of MARLBOROUGH.
By Mr. ADDISON.
Omnium effusa lætitia est & gratis cogitationibus & sermonibus revocaca.
Liv. Hist. Lib. 33.
LONDON: Printed, and Sold by H. Hills, in Black-Fryars, near the Water-side, 1710
THE
CAMPAIGN:
A
POEM, &c.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Lost Statesman

THE LOST STATESMAN
Written on hearing of the death of Silas Wright of New York. [Originally entitled Lines.]
As they who, tossing midst the storm at night, While turning shoreward, where a beacon shone, Meet the walled blackness of the heaven alone, So, on the turbulent waves of party tossed, In gloom and tempest, men have seen thy light Quenched in the darkness. At thy hour of noon, While life was pleasant to thy undimmed sight, And, day by day, within thy spirit grew A holier hope than young Ambition knew, As through thy rural quiet, not in vain, Pierced the sharp thrill of Freedom’s cry of pain, Man of the millions, thou art lost too soon! Portents at which the bravest stand aghast,— The birth-throes of a Future, strange and vast, Alarm the land; yet thou, so wise and strong, Suddenly summoned to the burial bed, Lapped in its slumbers deep and ever long, Hear’st not the tumult surging overhead. Who now shall rally Freedom’s scattering host? Who wear the mantle of the leader lost? Who stay the march of slavery? He whose voice
Hath called thee from thy task-field shall not lack Yet bolder champions, to beat bravely back The wrong which, through his poor ones, reaches Him: Yet firmer hands shall Freedom’s torch-lights trim, And wave them high across the abysmal black, Till bound, dumb millions there shall see them and rejoice.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Mayflowers

THE MAYFLOWERS
The trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their fearful winter. The name mayflower was familiar in England, as the application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by the English, and still is, to the hawthorne. Its use in New England in connection with Epigæa repens dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its English flower association.
Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails!
What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wild-wood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May?
Yet, “God be praised!” the Pilgrim said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, “Behold our Mayflower here!”
“God wills it: here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o’er;
For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more.”
O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen.
Behind the sea-wall’s rugged length, Unchanged, your leaves unfold, Like love behind the manly strength Of the brave hearts of old.
So live the fathers in their sons, Their sturdy faith be ours, And ours the love that overruns Its rocky strength with flowers.
The Pilgrim’s wild and wintry day Its shadow round us draws; The Mayflower of his stormy bay, Our Freedom’s struggling cause.
But warmer suns erelong shall bring To life the frozen sod; And through dead leaves of hope shall spring Afresh the flowers of God!
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Lakeside

THE LAKESIDE
The shadows round the inland sea Are deepening into night; Slow up the slopes of Ossipee They chase the lessening light. Tired of the long day’s blinding heat, I rest my languid eye, Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet, Thy sunset waters lie!
Along the sky, in wavy lines, O’er isle and reach and bay, Green-belted with eternal pines, The mountains stretch away. Below, the maple masses sleep Where shore with water blends, While midway on the tranquil deep The evening light descends.
So seemed it when yon hill’s red crown, Of old, the Indian trod, And, through the sunset air, looked down Upon the Smile of God. To him of light and shade the laws No forest skeptic taught; Their living and eternal Cause His truer instinct sought.
He saw these mountains in the light Which now across them shines; This lake, in summer sunset bright, Walled round with sombering pines. God near him seemed; from earth and skies His loving voice he heard, As, face to face, in Paradise, Man stood before the Lord.
Thanks, O our Father! that, like him, Thy tender love I see, In radiant hill and woodland dim, And tinted sunset sea. For not in mockery dost Thou fill Our earth with light and grace; Thou hid’st no dark and cruel will Behind Thy smiling face!
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Light that is felt

THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT
A tender child of summers three, Seeking her little bed at night, Paused on the dark stair timidly. “Oh, mother! Take my hand,” said she, “And then the dark will all be light.”
We older children grope our way From dark behind to dark before; And only when our hands we lay, Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, And there is darkness nevermore.
Reach downward to the sunless days Wherein our guides are blind as we, And faith is small and hope delays; Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, And let us feel the light of Thee!
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Lost Occasion

THE LOST OCCASION
Some die too late and some too soon, At early morning, heat of noon, Or the chill evening twilight. Thou, Whom the rich heavens did so endow With eyes of power and Jove’s own brow, With all the massive strength that fills Thy home-horizon’s granite hills, With rarest gifts of heart and head From manliest stock inherited, New England’s stateliest type of man, In port and speech Olympian; Whom no one met, at first, but took A second awed and wondering look (As turned, perchance, the eyes of Greece On Phidias’ unveiled masterpiece); Whose words in simplest homespun clad, The Saxon strength of Cædmon’s had, With power reserved at need to reach The Roman forum’s loftiest speech, Sweet with persuasion, eloquent In passion, cool in argument, Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes As fell the Norse god’s hammer blows, Crushing as if with Talus’ flail Through Error’s logic-woven mail, And failing only when they tried The adamant of the righteous side,— Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved Of old friends, by the new deceived, Too soon for us, too soon for thee, Beside thy lonely Northern sea, Where long and low the marsh-lands spread, Laid wearily down thy august head.
Thou shouldst have lived to feel below Thy feet Disunion’s fierce upthrow; The late-sprung mine that underlaid Thy sad concessions vainly made. Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter’s wall The star-flag of the Union fall, And armed rebellion pressing on The broken lines of Washington! No stronger voice than thine had then Called out the utmost might of men, To make the Union’s charter free And strengthen law by liberty. How had that stern arbitrament To thy gray age youth’s vigor lent, Shaming ambition’s paltry prize Before thy disillusioned eyes; Breaking the spell about thee wound Like the green withes that Samson bound; Redeeming in one effort grand, Thyself and thy imperilled land! Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, O sleeper by the Northern sea, The gates of opportunity! God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed. Wise men and strong we did not lack; But still, with memory turning back, In the dark hours we thought of thee, And thy lone grave beside the sea.
Above that grave the east winds blow, And from the marsh-lands drifting slow The sea-fog comes, with evermore The wave-wash of a lonely shore, And sea-bird’s melancholy cry, As Nature fain would typify The sadness of a closing scene, The loss of that which should have been. But, where thy native mountains bare Their foreheads to diviner air, Fit emblem of enduring fame, One lofty summit keeps thy name. For thee the cosmic forces did The rearing of that pyramid, The prescient ages shaping with Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. Sunrise and sunset lay thereon With hands of light their benison, The stars of midnight pause to set Their jewels in its coronet. And evermore that mountain mass Seems climbing from the shadowy pass To light, as if to manifest Thy nobler self, thy life at best!
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Knight of St. John

THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN
Ere down yon blue Carpathian hills The sun shall sink again, Farewell to life and all its ills, Farewell to cell and chain!
These prison shades are dark and cold, But, darker far than they, The shadow of a sorrow old Is on my heart alway.
For since the day when Warkworth wood Closed o’er my steed, and I, An alien from my name and blood, A weed cast out to die,—
When, looking back in sunset light, I saw her turret gleam, And from its casement, far and wide, Her sign of farewell stream,
Like one who, from some desert shore, Doth home’s green isles descry,
And, vainly longing, gazes o’er The waste of wave and sky;
So from the desert of my fate I gaze across the past; Forever on life’s dial-plate The shade is backward cast!
I ’ve wandered wide from shore to shore, I ’ve knelt at many a shrine; And bowed me to the rocky floor Where Bethlehem’s tapers shine;
And by the Holy Sepulchre I ’ve pledged my knightly sword To Christ, His blessed Church, and her, The Mother of our Lord.
Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife! How vain do all things seem! My soul is in the past, and life To-day is but a dream!
In vain the penance strange and long, And hard for flesh to bear; The prayer, the fasting, and the thong, And sackcloth shirt of hair.
The eyes of memory will not sleep,— Its ears are open still; And vigils with the past they keep Against my feeble will.
And still the loves and joys of old Do evermore uprise; I see the flow of locks of gold, The shine of loving eyes!
Ah me! upon another’s breast Those golden locks recline; I see upon another rest The glance that once was mine.
“O faithless priest! O perjured knight!” I hear the Master cry; “Shut out the vision from thy sight, Let Earth and Nature die.
“The Church of God is now thy spouse, And thou the bridegroom art; Then let the burden of thy vows Crush down thy human heart!”
In vain! This heart its grief must know, Till life itself hath ceased, And falls beneath the self-same blow The lover and the priest!
O pitying Mother! souls of light, And saints and martyrs old! Pray for a weak and sinful knight, A suffering man uphold.
Then let the Paynim work his will, And death unbind my chain, Ere down yon blue Carpathian hill The sun shall fall again.
# The Catholic's pocket prayer-book

* related portals: Roman Catholicism.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
THE CATHOLIC'S
POCKET
PRAYER-BOOK.
Compiled from Approved Sources.
BOSTON: THOMAS J. FLYNN & CO. 16. 18 and 20 Essex St.
Imprimatur:
✠ MICHAEL AUCUSTINE,
Archbishop of New York.
New York, Oct. 13, 1899.
546 Thousand.
New Edition: 356. Thousand.
CONTENTS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Catholic's pocket prayer-book/Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament

Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.
O SALUTARIS HOSTIA.
O saving Victim, slain to bless, Who openest heaven's bright gates to all; The attacks of many a foe oppress; Give strength in strife, and help in fall. To God, the Three in One, ascend All thanks and praise forevermore; He grant the life that shall not end, Upon the heavenly country's shore. Amen.
TANTUM ERGO.
Therefore, we, before it bending, This great Sacrament adore:
Types and shadows have their ending In the new rite evermore: Faith, our outward sense amending, Maketh good defects before. Honor, laud, and praise addressing To the Father and the Son, Might ascribe we, virtue, blessing, And eternal benison. Holy Ghost from both progressing, Equal laud to thee be done. Amen.
Thou hast given them bread from heaven. Alleluia.
Replenished with all sweetness and delight. Alleluia.
Let us pray.
O God, who hast left us in this wonderful Sacrament a perpetual memorial ​of thy passion: grant us, we beseech thee, so to reverence the sacred mysteries of thy body and blood, that we may continually find in our souls the fruit of thy redemption. Thou who livest and reignest world without end. Amen.
# The Catholic's pocket prayer-book/Blessing and Grace

BLESSING BEFORE MEALS.
† Bless us, O Lord! and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.
GRACE AFTER MEALS.
† We give Thee thanks for all Thy benefits, O Almighty God, who livest and reignest forever; and may the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.