A Campaigner at Home

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Longman, 1865 - 367 páginas

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Página 321 - 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.
Página 62 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last— far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream ; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night ; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
Página 276 - I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ! My heart seemed full as it could hold ; There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep : See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand ! There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.
Página 73 - Then spake Joshua to the Lord in the day when the Lord delivered up the Amorites before the children of Israel, and he said in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon ; and thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon.
Página 265 - Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from rock up to rock, The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.
Página 251 - As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop, "Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop: "What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
Página 125 - Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
Página 261 - Praxed in a glory, and one Pan Ready to twitch the Nymph's last garment off. And Moses with the tables ... but I know Ye mark me not! What do they whisper thee, Child of my bowels, Anselm?
Página 45 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves; And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
Página 276 - It was not her time to love ; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — And the sweet white brow is all of her.

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