Women who Have Ennobled Life

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Union Press, 1915 - 260 oldal

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33. oldal - How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
203. oldal - So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer body doth procure To habit in, and it more fairly dight, With cheerful grace and amiable sight. For, of the soul, the body form doth take, For soul is form, and doth the body make.
50. oldal - ... taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements...
203. oldal - He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.
183. oldal - STILL, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh. When the bird waketh and the shadows flee ; Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee.
197. oldal - Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
52. oldal - Now understand me well — it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.
118. oldal - He fixed thee mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest : Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.
161. oldal - Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.
162. oldal - All through the conflict, up and down Marched Uncle Tom and Old John Brown, One ghost, one form ideal ; And which was false and which was true, And which was mightier of the two, The wisest sibyl never knew, For both alike were real.

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