Tom Brown's school days

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Macmillan and Company, Limited, 1903 - 360 Seiten
 

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Seite 217 - If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.
Seite 232 - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
Seite 277 - In this thing the LORD pardon thy servant, that when my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon: when I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon, the LORD pardon thy servant in this thing.
Seite 306 - I be lessen'd in his love ? I wrong the grave with fears untrue: Shall love be blamed for want of faith ? There must be wisdom with great Death : The dead shall look me thro
Seite 305 - O great seas, Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought, One purpose hold where'er they fare, — O bounding breeze, O rushing seas! At last, at last, unite them there!
Seite 280 - And when they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an host: when they stood, they let down their wings.
Seite 287 - The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share, ! For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.
Seite 280 - And they went every one straight forward : whither the spirit was to go, they went ; and they turned not when they went.
Seite 188 - I HELD it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
Seite 217 - One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things : — We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art ; Close up those barren leaves ; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

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