The Knickerbocker: Or, New-York Monthly Magazine, Volume 7 (Google eBook)

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Page 217 - I SAW him once before^ As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the...
Page 414 - Behold, yonder is that Shunammite: run now, I pray thee, to meet her, and say unto her, Is it well with thee ? is it well with thy husband ? is it well with the child ? And she answered, It is well.
Page 105 - And let those that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them : for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villainous; and . shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.
Page 349 - For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of Him who hath subjected the same in hope ; Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.
Page 294 - A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Page 63 - To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer ? Ah ! here is a plentiful board ! But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here.
Page 89 - All flesh is grass, And all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field : The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: . Because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: Surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: But the word of our God shall stand for ever.
Page 543 - One that had never done me wrong, A feeble man and old: I led him to a lonely field; The moon shone clear and cold: Now here, said I, this man shall die, And I will have his gold!
Page 544 - Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dewdrop from its wing ; But I never mark'd its morning flight, I never heard it sing : For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. " With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran, There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began : In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves I hid the...
Page 544 - One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave: Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave, Still urging me to go and see The Dead Man in his grave!

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