Igdrasil, 1 tomas

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G. Allen, 1890
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The journal of the Ruskin Reading Guild. A magazine of literature, art and social philosophy.

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110 psl. - He giveth his beloved sleep — Ps. cxxvii. 2. OF all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this — ' He giveth His beloved sleep ' ? What would we give to our beloved?
63 psl. - I go to prove my soul ! I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive ! what time, what circuit first, I ask not : but unless God send his hail Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive : He guides me and the bird. In his good time ! Mich.
65 psl. - It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That, after Last, returns the First, 60 Though a wide compass round be fetched; That what began best, can't end worst, Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst.
139 psl. - The Sick Rose o ROSE, thou art sick ! The invisible worm That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy The Tyger TYGER!
138 psl. - Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : The genius, and the mortal instruments, Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
154 psl. - When you come to a good book, you must ask yourself, "Am I inclined to work as an Australian miner would? Are my pickaxes and shovels in good order, and am I in good trim, myself, my sleeves well up to the elbow, and my breath good, and my temper?
111 psl. - Behold, Thou hast made my days as it were a span long, and mine age is even as nothing in respect of Thee ; and verily every man living is altogether vanity. For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain ; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what is my hope : truly my hope is even in Thee.
111 psl. - But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God which raiseth the dead: Who delivered us from so great a death, and doth deliver: in whom we trust that He will yet deliver us...
63 psl. - I but open my eyes, — and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen God In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod.
337 psl. - For the right moment you must wait, as Fabius did most patiently when warring against Hannibal, though many censured his delays; but when the time comes you must strike hard, as Fabius did, or your waiting will be in vain, and fruitless.

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