Memorial of George Washington Hosmer

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Press of G.I. Jones, 1882 - 356 páginas
 

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Página 328 - God is a Spirit, and they that worship him must worship in spirit and in truth.
Página 289 - New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth ; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.
Página 262 - But when they shall deliver you up, take no thought how or what to speak; <for it shall be given you in that hour what to speak.> For it is not you that speak, but the Spirit of your Father that speaketh in you.
Página 343 - I no sooner (saith he) come into the library, but I bolt the door to me, excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all such vices, whose nurse is Idleness, the mother of Ignorance, and Melancholy herself, and in the very lap of eternity, amongst so many divine souls, I take my seat with so lofty a spirit and sweet content, that I pity all our great ones, and rich men that know not this happiness.
Página 200 - HOW amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of Hosts! My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the Lord : my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God.
Página 273 - And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother, "Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against (yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.
Página 200 - For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.
Página 24 - Each cloud that floated in the sky Writes a letter in my book. Chide me not, laborious band, For the idle flowers I brought; Every aster in my hand Goes home loaded with a thought. There was never mystery But 'tis figured in the flowers; Was never secret history But birds tell it in the bowers.
Página 162 - The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, And greedily devour the treacherous bait...
Página 23 - Tis mine, my children's and my name's. How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees! How graceful climb those shadows on my hill! I fancy these pure waters and the flags Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize; And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.

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