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Seite 236 - For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass : for he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.
Seite 160 - High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing...
Seite 215 - I ought to do — and did my best — And each did well in his degree. The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him — with eyes as blue as heaven...
Seite 71 - The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon, Then into the night he looked forth; And red and bright the streamers light Were dancing in the glowing north. So had he seen, in fair Castile, The youth in glittering squadrons start, Sudden the flying jennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light.
Seite 66 - To again quote the oracles of my high-priest, Wordsworth, there is nothing like ' The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on its own heart.' What ' truths divine ' crowd every page of Wordsworth's writings ! I sometimes wish to be a modern Alexander, that I might have Mount Athos carved into, not my own statue, but his.
Seite 160 - What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Seite 215 - Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne,— Where, where, was Roderick then ! One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.
Seite 183 - Thus death reigns in all the portions of our time; the autumn with its fruits provides disorders for us, and the winter's cold turns them into sharp diseases, and the spring brings flowers to strew our hearse, and the summer gives green turf and brambles to bind upon our graves.