Passing the Portal: Or, A Girl's Struggle : an Autobiography (Google eBook)

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G. W. Carleton, 1876 - Women authors - 408 pages
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Page 274 - But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are! And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Page 176 - No, indeed, for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make ; And creates the love to reward the love : I claim you still, for my own love's sake...
Page 334 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.
Page 230 - THAT each, who seems a separate whole, Should move his rounds, and fusing all The skirts of self again, should fall Remerging in the general Soul, Is faith as vague as all unsweet : Eternal form shall still divide The eternal soul from all beside; And I shall know him when we meet...
Page 221 - When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play." Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day; Low on the sand and loud on the slone The lasl: wheel echoes away.
Page 288 - Rejoice we are allied To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.
Page 288 - Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird?
Page 330 - Alas, that love should be a blight and snare To those who seek all sympathies in one ! Such once I sought in vain ; then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone...
Page 91 - Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten, who in ears and eyes Match me: we all surmise, They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe? Not on the vulgar mass Called "work...
Page 392 - I'll bide your proof. CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death. CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

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