I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried read more

I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed--and cooed:
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song,--the song for me!

We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for
judgment, but there is none: for read more

We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for
judgment, but there is none: for salvation, but it is far off
from us.

See how that pair of billing doves
With open murmurs own their loves
And, heedless of censorious read more

See how that pair of billing doves
With open murmurs own their loves
And, heedless of censorious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys:
No fears of future want molest
The downy quiet of their nest.

And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I
fly away, and be read more

And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I
fly away, and be at rest.

Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song,
And spread thy golden wings in me;
Hatching my tender heart read more

Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song,
And spread thy golden wings in me;
Hatching my tender heart so long,
Till it get wing, and flie away with Thee.

The Dove,
On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

The Dove,
On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

. . . The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, . . .

. . . The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, . . .

As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth restored to the long labouring ark;
The read more

As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth restored to the long labouring ark;
The relics of mankind, secure at rest,
Open every window to receive the guest,
And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.

Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
read more

Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves.