The Redemption of David Corson

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Bowen-Merrill, 1900 - 418 Seiten

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Seite 381 - But go ye now unto my place which was in Shiloh, where I set my name at the first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel.
Seite 193 - If music be the food of love, play on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.
Seite 389 - The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven — All's right with the world!
Seite 334 - Pouring day upon our eyes. 2 Still we wait for thine appearing; Life and joy thy beams impart, Chasing all our fears, and cheering Every poor benighted heart...
Seite 381 - Is this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes...
Seite 381 - Will ye steal, murder, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and burn incense unto Baal, and walk after other gods whom ye know not; and come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, "We are delivered to do all these abominations?
Seite 382 - And now, because ye have done all these works, saith the Lord, and I spake unto you, rising up early and speaking, but ye heard not; and I called you, but ye answered not; therefore will I do unto this house, which is called by my name, wherein ye trust, and unto the place which I gave to you and to your fathers, as I have done to Shiloh.
Seite 395 - I'll not o'erlook the modest flower That made the woods of April bright. INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart.
Seite 17 - It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
Seite 404 - Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.

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