THE MAGIC STAFF; AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANDREW JACKSON DAVIS. (Google eBook)

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Page 69 - THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye ; My noonday walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.
Page 82 - When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine are blanch'd with fear.
Page 189 - I WOULD not live alway : I ask not to stay Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way ; The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here, Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer. 2 I would not live alway...
Page 500 - These wait their doom, from that great law Which makes the past time serve to-day ; And fresher life the world shall draw From their decay.
Page 11 - 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 197 - Och! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling! To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, Assiduous wait upon her; And gather gear by ev'ry wile That's justified by honour; Not for to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train attendant; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. The fear o...
Page 88 - No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way. Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Page 213 - The outworn rite, the old abuse, The pious fraud transparent grown, The good held captive in the use Of wrong alone...
Page 19 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 197 - Remove far from me vanity and lies ; give me neither poverty, nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: lest I be full and deny thee, and say, who is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.

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