Modern Culture, Том 13

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William W. Hudson, Graeme Mercer Adam
Modern Culture Magazine Company, 1901
 

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Страница 406 - OH yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Страница 194 - Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Страница 120 - Be not deceived ; God is not mocked : whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.
Страница 181 - And we that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend — ourselves to make a Couch — for whom...
Страница 147 - For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Страница 237 - Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Страница 182 - Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.
Страница 182 - There was the Door to which I found no Key ; There was the Veil through which I could not see : Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was — and then no more of THEE and ME.
Страница 181 - 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 148 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

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