Willie Atherton, Band 12

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Seite 55 - Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
Seite 1 - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Seite 223 - Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee.
Seite 183 - I would not have the restless will That hurries to and fro, Seeking for some great thing to do, Or secret thing to know ; I would be treated as a child, And guided where I go.
Seite 186 - But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the souL Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his...
Seite 120 - O Woman ! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
Seite 17 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man! How passing wonder He who made him such, Who centred in our make such strange extremes!
Seite 123 - Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth! Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool!
Seite 35 - WEAK and irresolute is man ; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away.
Seite 183 - I ask Thee for the daily strength, To none that ask denied, And a mind to blend with outward life While keeping at Thy side ; Content to fill a little space, If Thou be glorified.

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