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Apollyon arms audience Barbox Brothers beauty bells body breath Capt chest child Christ Christian Cromwell dead death earth Edmund Burke English eternal exercise expression eyes father feeling fire force forever give glory habit hand hath hear heard heart heaven heigh-ho Henry Ward Beecher honor hope human Inhale Jack James Martineau John Henry Newman JOHN RUSKIN king L. A. BANKS lady laws light lips live look Lord loud Lyman Abbott Macedon masquerade ball master means memory mental mind mouth nature ness never Newman night o'er Phillips Brooks practise pray prayer preacher preaching public speaker pulpit relax resonance secret sermon silent soul sound speaking speech spirit stand style sweet swell tell thee things thou thought throat throne tion tone truth unto voice Wendell Phillips WILLIAM WORDSWORTH words write
Seite 417 - Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy.
Seite 378 - THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Seite 109 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee...
Seite 26 - Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Seite 109 - Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee : Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues : be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's...
Seite 369 - GROW old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!
Seite 47 - Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Seite 398 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Seite 415 - WHEN all Thy mercies, O my God, My rising soul surveys ; Transported with the view I'm lost In wonder, love and praise.
Seite 389 - THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit ? ? What struggle to escape ? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?