Torchester abbey, Bind 582

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Side 5 - Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, They pass, and heed each other not ; There is who heeds, who holds them all, In his large love and boundless thought. These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.
Side 229 - Cause I see a woman kind ? Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican: If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love?
Side 3 - How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure. Still to ourselves in every place consign' d, Our own felicity we make or find : With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
Side 300 - And how felt he, the wretched Man Reclining there — while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace ! " There was a time," he said in mild, Heart-humbled tones —
Side 402 - When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! HUSH'D is the harp — the Minstrel gone.
Side 286 - And he who has not learned to know How false its sparkling bubbles show How bitter are the drops of woe, With which its brim may overflow, He has not learned to live.
Side 117 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
Side 402 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day...
Side 259 - SONG OF THE SHIRT. WITH fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!

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