The Young Englishwoman (Google eBook)

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1875
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Page 4 - Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life ? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.
Page 540 - Like a mighty army Moves the Church of God ! Brothers, we are treading Where the saints have trod ; We are not divided, All one Body we, One in hope and doctrine, One in charity.
Page 480 - TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more.
Page 240 - But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, no, he came not, The night came on alone, The little...
Page 161 - We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most feels the noblest acts the best.
Page 361 - I am thy God, and will still give thee aid; I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.
Page 124 - Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long : And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever One grand, sweet song.
Page 540 - Crowns and thrones may perish. Kingdoms rise and wane, But the Church of Jesus Constant will remain ; Gates of hell can never 'Gainst that Church prevail ; We have Christ's own promise, And that cannot fail. Onward, etc. 5 Onward, then, ye people ! Join our happy throng ! Blend with ours your voices In the triumph song ! Glory, laud, and honor, Unto Christ the King ; This through countless ages Men and angels sing.
Page 52 - How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Page 161 - The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe.

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