The Cities of the Past

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Trübner & Company, 1864 - 216 páginas

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Página 164 - Dangerous it were for the feeble brain of man to wade far into the doings of the Most High; whom although to know be life, and joy to make mention of his name; yet our soundest knowledge is, to know that we know him not as indeed he is, neither can know him ; and our safest eloquence concerning him, is our silence, when we confess without confession, that his glory is inexplicable, his greatness above our capacity and reach. He is above, and we upon earth; therefore it behoveth our words to be wary...
Página 162 - Out upon Time ! it will leave no more Of the things to come than the things before ! Out upon Time ! who for ever will leave But enough of the past for the future to grieve...
Página 118 - This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree.
Página 108 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Página 35 - One God, one law, one element, And one far-off divine event, To which the whole creation moves.
Página 32 - Time's noblest offspring is the last," our civilization should be the noblest; for we are " The heirs of all the ages in the foremost files of time...
Página 8 - The snow-drop, and then the violet, Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.
Página 16 - Now, upon SYRIA'S land of roses * Softly the light of Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON, Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Página 179 - Lift up your heads, O ye gates, And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors; That the King of glory may come in.
Página 14 - Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant, Oh life, not death, for which we pant ; More life, and fuller, that I want.

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