Mary Alice Walton Soul Poems

  • 1.
    Blind and helpless alone I wait;
    The way seems dark and prayers too late,
    My anguished soul sends forth the cry,
    Father save me, ere I die;
    ...
  • 2.
    The home of my soul, worn and weary,
    And pierced by the rocks of old time,
    The windows grown dim and the key-boards
    Were mute to the wind's whispered chime.
    ...
  • 3.
    On Canaan's fairest borders, in thought, I seemed to stand,
    I'd left my broken palace for this long-wished-for land.
    On earth for me they're mourning, friends weeping sad and low,
    It seemed the bells were sobbing, my joy there none could know.
    ...
  • 4.
    The battle-cry is sounding loud, a bugle calls to arm,
    The hills and dales are clouded o'er, troops gather in alarm;
    With winds is mingled sighing prayer from many a sinking brave;
    A youth obeying duty's call, a life his country gave.
    ...
  • 5.
    One day amid brown tresses there gleamed a silvery thread,
    Life pages, past and present I wonderingly then read.
    I saw a blithsome maiden, a child serenely fair,
    A woman heavey laden now lifts her first gray hair.
    ...
  • 6.
    Glad boyish voices with merriment ring,
    Two children with nought, as gayly they sing
    Of burdensome care, their hearts as the bird
    To mountains oft' soar in freedom, unstirred
    ...
  • 7.
    Ring out, oh, ye bells, in soft measured chime,
    Sweet melodies breathe in rythmetric rhyme,
    The murmuring winds bring song from afar,
    For one we have loved is crossing the bar.
    ...
  • 8.
    Sometime the golden gates will lift,
    I know not how nor when 'twill be,
    My soul, the one immortal gift,
    Will stand beside the changeless sea.
    ...
Total 8 Soul Poems by Mary Alice Walton

Top 10 most used topics by Mary Alice Walton

Love 15 I Love You 15 Heart 12 Sweet 12 Life 12 Mother 10 Heaven 9 Spirit 9 God 8 Soul 8

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Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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