Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons, 1 tomas

Priekinis viršelis
Wm. Crosby and H.P. Nichols, 1852
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Populiarios ištraukos

50 psl. - And I looked, and there was none to help; And I wondered that there was none to uphold : Therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto me; And my fury, it upheld me.
333 psl. - Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorned adorned the most.
168 psl. - Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt, The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt, The Douglass in red herrings ; And noble name and cultured land, Palace, and park, and vassal band. Are powerless to the notes of hand Of Rothschild or the Barings.
71 psl. - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms— the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,— friend, foe,— in one red burial blent!
70 psl. - She filled the helm, and back she hied, And with surprise and joy espied A monk supporting Marmion's head ; A pious man whom duty brought To dubious verge of battle fought, To shrive the dying, bless the dead. Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, And, as she stooped his brow to lave — " Is it the hand of Clare," he said, "Or injured Constance, bathes my head?
28 psl. - Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosperous to be just ; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified, And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.
127 psl. - My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust ; who subdueth my people under me.
28 psl. - For humanity sweeps onward ; where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands ; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into history's golden urn.
8 psl. - We know that God spake unto Moses ; but as for this fellow, we know not whence he is.

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