The Story of Rasmus: Or, The Making of a Man

National Temperance Society and Publication House, 1886 - 326 Seiten
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Seite 228 - My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
Seite 138 - THERE is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign ; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. 2 There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers ; Death, like a narrow sea, divides This heavenly land from ours.
Seite 95 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Seite 222 - Who breaks his birth's invidious bar, And grasps the skirts of happy chance, And breasts the blows of circumstance, And grapples with his evil star; Who makes by force his merit known And lives to clutch the golden keys, To mould a mighty state's decrees, And shape the whisper of the throne; And moving up from high to higher, Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope The pillar of a people's hope, The centre of a world's desire...
Seite 258 - Heavy-wet, this can and does ! Thou art the thrall not of Cedric the Saxon, but of thy own brutal appetites and this scoured dish of liquor. And thou pratest of thy " liberty " ? Thou entire blockhead ! Heavy-wet and gin: alas, these are not the only kinds of thraldom.
Seite 114 - WHILE Thee I seek, protecting Power, Be my vain wishes stilled ; And may this consecrated hour With better hopes be filled. 2 Thy love the power of thought bestowed, To Thee my thoughts would soar : Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed, That mercy I adore. 3 In each event of life, how clear Thy ruling hand I see ; Each blessing to my soul more dear, Because conferred by Thee. 4 In every joy that crowns my...
Seite 261 - Were a star quenched on high, For ages would its light, Still travelling downward from the sky, Shine on our mortal sight. So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken, The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men.
Seite 24 - A braver swell, a swifter sliding; The river, hasteth, her banks recede. Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding Bear down the lily and drown the reed. Stately prows are rising and bowing (Shouts of mariners winnow the air), And level sands for banks endowing The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair.
Seite 62 - Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom ; We two among them wading together, Shaking out honey, treading perfume. Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. Flusheth the rise with her purple favor, Gloweth the cleft with her golden ring, 'Twixt the two brown butterflies waver, Lightly settle, and sleepily swing.
Seite 167 - If thou turn away thy foot from the sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day; and call the sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words: then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord...

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