Written on Their Foreheads, Том 2

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Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, & Rivington, 1879

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Страница 203 - The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
Страница 251 - We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show...
Страница 58 - The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day, to Indians known; In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms, Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High overarch'd, and echoing walks between...
Страница 251 - But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days ; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.
Страница 189 - Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?" The Master said, "Is not RECIPROCITY such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.
Страница 317 - In what does this differ from stabbing a man and killing him, and then saying — ' It was not I ; it was the weapon ' ? Let your Majesty cease to lay the blame on the year, and instantly from all the empire the people will come to you.
Страница 70 - Who far outstrips the senses, though as gods They strive to reach him ; who himself at rest Transcends the fleetest flight of other beings, Who like the air supports all vital action. He moves, yet moves not ; he is far, yet near. He is within this universe, and yet Outside this universe ; whoe'er beholds All living creatures, as in him, and him — The universal spirit — as in all, Henceforth regards no creature with contempt.
Страница 76 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing...
Страница 76 - Not seldom in our happy hours of ease, When thought is still, the sight of some fair form, Or mournful fall of music breathing low, Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul With a mysterious sadness, and a sense Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be That the dim memory of events long past, Or friendships formed in other states of being, Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?
Страница 137 - But let us do what we please to put India from our thoughts, we can do nothing to separate it from our public interest and our national reputation. Our attempts to banish this importunate duty, will only make it return upon us again and again, and every time in a shape more unpleasant than the former.

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