Headland Home: Or, A Soul's Pilgrimage

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James Miller, 1868 - 346 oldal

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205. oldal - Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet. With the sky above my head. And the grass beneath my feet ; For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!
1. oldal - Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, We Sinais climb and know it not. Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives; Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite; And to our age's drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.
204. oldal - Work, work, work, In the dull December light, And work, work, work, When the weather Is warm and bright, While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring.
80. oldal - He will not only pardon, but pardon abundantly: for his thoughts are not as our thoughts, nor his ways as our ways.
176. oldal - He yet shall wipe away Creation's tears, And all the worlds shall summer in His smile. Why work I not ? The veriest mote that sports Its one-day life within the sunny beam Has its stern duties. Wherefore have I none ? I will throw off this dead and useless past, As a strong runner, straining for his life, Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds. A mighty purpose rises large and slow From out the fluctuations of my soul, As, ghost-like, from the dim and tumbling sea Starts the completed moon.
69. oldal - The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 80 As when a giant dies Claud.
9. oldal - She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively...
120. oldal - Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil. Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer - some...
52. oldal - O ! mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give...
113. oldal - I'd have him bend the knee, And breathe to her the prayer he used to breathe to me. And tell him day by day life looks to me more dim : I falter when I pray, although I pray for him; And bid him, when I die, come to our favorite tree ; I shall not hear him sigh : then let him sigh for me.

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