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471. oldal - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now.
159. oldal - Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh : and I will make thee swear by the LORD, the God of heaven, and the God of the earth, that thou shalt not take a wife unto my son of the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell : but thou shalt go unto my country and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son Isaac.
92. oldal - There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.
87. oldal - TO him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
178. oldal - We have not wings, we cannot soar: But we have feet to scale and climb, By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.
88. oldal - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
94. oldal - I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be ; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea. The rudiments of empire here Are plastic yet, and warm ; The chaos of a mighty world Is rounding into form...
94. oldal - Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
182. oldal - WHENE'ER a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts, in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares.
207. oldal - A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell, A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof, Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where Thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me while I sleep. 10 Low is my porch, as is my fate, Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come and freely get Good words or meat.