The Academy and Literature, Band 58

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Academy Publishing Company, 1900

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Seite 147 - As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod, Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God: I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies: By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God: Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.
Seite 309 - Know ye not that ye are a temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you ? If any man destroyeth the temple of God, him shall God destroy ; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.
Seite 216 - As to the great oak flaring to the wind — To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky.
Seite 156 - What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff That beetles o'er his base into the sea...
Seite 76 - Requiem Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Seite 284 - Death is there associated, not, as in Westminster Abbey and St Paul's, with genius and virtue, with public veneration and with imperishable renown; not, as in our humblest churches and churchyards, with everything that is most endearing in social and domestic charities; but with whatever is darkest in human nature and in human destiny, with the savage triumph of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of blighted...
Seite 191 - Stevenson (RL) THE LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO HIS FAMILY AND FRIENDS.
Seite 311 - Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted rye : There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war; There poppies nodding mock the hope of toil; There the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a shade, And clasping tares cling round the sickly blade; With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, And a sad...
Seite 89 - So far from that, all the pure and noble arts of peace are founded on war ; no great art ever yet rose on earth, but among a nation of soldiers. There is no art among a shepherd people, if it remains at peace. There is no art among an agricultural people, if it remains at peace.
Seite 180 - Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in this life, and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun.

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