The Recreations of a Country Parson. Second SeriesTicknor and Fields, 1861 - 442 Seiten |
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Seite 8
... hour , with a book on my knee ; and upon that a piece of paper , whereon I have been noting down some thoughts for the sermon which I hope to write during this week , and to preach next Sun- day in that little parish - church of which ...
... hour , with a book on my knee ; and upon that a piece of paper , whereon I have been noting down some thoughts for the sermon which I hope to write during this week , and to preach next Sun- day in that little parish - church of which ...
Seite 11
... hour after hour you grow more and more dull and downhearted . At length , as the sunset is gilding the swept harvest - fields , you reach the quiet little railway station among the hills . It is wonder- ful to see it . There is no ...
... hour after hour you grow more and more dull and downhearted . At length , as the sunset is gilding the swept harvest - fields , you reach the quiet little railway station among the hills . It is wonder- ful to see it . There is no ...
Seite 14
... hour , I am willing to declare that I think the life of a country clergyman , in a pretty parish , with a well ... hours daily in the open air , in a state of pleasurable interest ; your little chil- dren grow up with green fields about ...
... hour , I am willing to declare that I think the life of a country clergyman , in a pretty parish , with a well ... hours daily in the open air , in a state of pleasurable interest ; your little chil- dren grow up with green fields about ...
Seite 15
... hours . Very different with the pale children of a like class in the city , who do but exchange the infected chamber for the filthy lane , and whose eyes are hardly ever gladdened by the sight of a green field . And when the diligent ...
... hours . Very different with the pale children of a like class in the city , who do but exchange the infected chamber for the filthy lane , and whose eyes are hardly ever gladdened by the sight of a green field . And when the diligent ...
Seite 19
... hour at the heather at your feet , and at the sweeps of purple moorland far away . You go down to the churchyard frequently : you sit on the gravestone of your predecessor who died two hundred years since ; and you count five , six ...
... hour at the heather at your feet , and at the sweeps of purple moorland far away . You go down to the churchyard frequently : you sit on the gravestone of your predecessor who died two hundred years since ; and you count five , six ...
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Seite 174 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Seite 110 - tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music ! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your Teacher.
Seite 128 - There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
Seite 226 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...
Seite 412 - Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Seite 187 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.
Seite 295 - Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
Seite 329 - O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest — Ps.
Seite 122 - And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last.
Seite 305 - From the lone shieling of the misty island Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas — Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, And we in dreams behold the Hebrides : Fair these broad meads, &c.