The Atlantic Monthly, Band 135

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Atlantic Monthly Company, 1925

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Seite 687 - The mystery of the seven stars which thou sawest in my right hand, and the seven golden candlesticks. The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches : and the seven candlesticks which thou sawest are the seven churches.
Seite 202 - The Lord, ye know, is God indeed, Without our aid He did us make: We are His flock, He doth us feed And for his sheep He doth us take.
Seite 150 - And the children of Joseph said, The hill is not enough for us : and all the Canaanites that dwell in the land of the valley have chariots of iron, both they who are of Beth-shean and her towns, and they who are of the valley of Jezreel.
Seite 618 - And he said unto them, Unto you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God: but unto them that are without, all these things are done in parables...
Seite 293 - Most men eddy about Here and there — eat and drink, Chatter and love and hate, Gather and squander, are raised Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust, Striving blindly, achieving Nothing; and then they die Perish; - and no one asks Who or what they have been, More than he asks what waves, In the moonlit solitudes mild Of the midmost Ocean, have swell'd, Foam'd for a moment, and gone.
Seite 300 - I have watched Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps, And my heart ever gazes on the depth Of thy deep mysteries. I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won from thee, Hoping to still these obstinate questionings Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost, Thy messenger, to render up the tale Of what we are.
Seite 210 - For my own part I would as soon be descended from that heroic little monkey, who braved his dreaded enemy in order to save the life of his keeper; or from that old baboon, who, descending from the mountains, carried away in triumph his young comrade from a crowd of astonished...
Seite 300 - Hoping to still these obstinate questionings Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost Thy messenger, to render up the tale Of what we are. In lone and silent hours, When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness...
Seite 215 - Speak gently, Spring, and make no sudden sound; For in my windy valley yesterday I found New-born foxes squirming on the ground — Speak gently. Walk softly, March, forbear the bitter blow; Her feet within a trap, her blood upon the snow, The four little foxes' saw their mother go — Walk softly.
Seite 150 - And they cut off his head, and stripped off his armour, and sent into the land of the Philistines round about, to publish it in the house of their idols, and among the people. 10 And they put his armour in the house of Ashtaroth: and they fastened his body to the wall of Bethshan.

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