Way, Truth, and Life: Sermons

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W. V. Spencer, 1870 - 264 páginas

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Página 203 - The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven — All's right with the world!
Página 197 - Like warp and woof all destinies Are woven fast, Linked in sympathy like the keys Of an organ vast. Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar ; Break but one Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar Through all will run.
Página 189 - Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown Of thee from the hill-top looking down; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, Deems not that great Napoleon Stops his horse, and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. All are needed by each one; Nothing is fair or good alone. I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,...
Página 133 - ... dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers News of dear friends, and children who have never Been dead indeed — as we shall know for ever.
Página 245 - Say not thou. What is the cause that the former days were better than these ? for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this.
Página 250 - Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time? Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime? They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts; Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's: But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free. Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea.
Página 52 - With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern.
Página 193 - Get but the truth once uttered, and 'tis like A star new-born, that drops into its place, And which, once circling in its placid round, Not all the tumult of the earth can shake.
Página 117 - Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly long'd for death. ' 'Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant, Oh life, not death, for which we pant ; More life, and fuller, that I want.
Página 227 - God ! there is a heaven," she cried, " though mine is endless woe." The angel of the golden gate said, "Where, then, dost thou dwell ? And who art thou that enterest not ? " — "A soul escaped from hell." " Who knows to bless with prayer like thine, in hell can never be ; God's angel could not, if he would, bar up this door from thee.

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