The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 25 (Google eBook)

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Atlantic Monthly Company, 1870 - American literature
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Page 634 - ... heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and again from leaden skies the snow-flakes were sifted over the land. Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet above their heads. It became more and more difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half hidden in the drifts.
Page 429 - The greatest obstacle to being heroic is the doubt whether one may not be going to prove one's self a fool ; the truest heroism is to resist the doubt, and the profoundest wisdom to know when it ought to be resisted and when to be obeyed.
Page 635 - And now, gentlemen," he added abruptly, picking up his long-handled shovel, "the fun'l's over; and my thanks, and Tennessee's thanks, to you for your trouble." Resisting any proffers of assistance, he began to fill in the grave, turning his back upon the crowd, that after a few moments' hesitation gradually withdrew.
Page 635 - Canon; but at its farther extremity he was stopped by a small man on a gray horse. The men looked at each other a moment in silence. Both were fearless, both self-possessed and independent; and both types of a civilization that in the seventeenth century would have been called heroic, but in the nineteenth simply "reckless.
Page 243 - Several friends of both parties were present on the occasion, and there was not a dry eye that witnessed the scene.
Page 9 - Each age must worship its own thought of God, More or less earthy, clarifying still With subsidence continuous of the dregs ; Nor saint nor sage could fix immutably The fluent image of the unstable Best, Still changing in their very hands that wrought : To-day's eternal truth To-morrow proved Frail as frost-landscapes on a windowpane.
Page 214 - Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, The sweet song flits By snatches through his weary brain To help him rest ; When next he goes that road again, An empty nest On leafless bough will make him sigh, " Ah me ! last spring Just here I heard, in passing by, That rare bird sing ! " But while he sighs, remembering How sweet the song, The little bird on tireless wing, Is borne along In other air, and other men With weary feet, On other roads, the simple strain Are finding sweet. The birds must know....
Page 637 - Whenever in any religious faith, dark or bright, we allow our minds to dwell upon the points in which we differ from other people, we are wrong, and in the devil's power. That is the essence of the Pharisee's thanksgiving " Lord, I thank Thee, that I am not as other men are.
Page 468 - Forward I reach and share All that they sing and dare. The airs of heaven blow o'er me ; A glory shines before me Of what mankind shall be, Pure, generous, brave, and free.
Page 429 - Some beauties yet no precepts can declare, For there's a happiness as well as care. Music resembles poetry: in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master-hand alone can reach.

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