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admiration appeared army beautiful become believe better body called cause character Christian Church common considered course death effect empire England English Europe existence expression eyes fact father feeling force France French genius give given hand head heart honor hope human idea important interest Italy kind land least less light lived look Lord matter means ment mind moral nature never object officers once original passage passed perhaps period persons poet political position possessed present published reader received remained respect Russian seems seen sense ship side speak spirit success thing thought tion took true truth turned whole writings young
117. oldal - Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations.
525. oldal - Who hath woe ? who hath sorrow ? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause ? who hath redness of eyes ? They that tarry long at the wine ; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
208. oldal - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things thee to see, And what I do in any thing, To do it as for thee...
526. oldal - For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty: and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.
526. oldal - Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging : and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.
410. oldal - There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb With a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme, He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders, But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders, The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching Till he learns the .distinction 'twixt singing and preaching...
350. oldal - Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
415. oldal - Gentleman, simmer it well, Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain, That only the finest and clearest remain, Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves, And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving A name either English or Yankee, — just Irving.