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

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Page 375 - And now, brethren, I commend you to God, and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all them which are sanctified.
Page 521 - Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs none. There she is. Behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history; the world knows it by heart The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; and there they will remain forever.
Page 375 - And when he had thus spoken, he kneeled down, and prayed with them all. And they all wept sore, and fell on Paul's neck, and kissed him, sorrowing most of all for the words which he spake, that they should see his face no more.
Page 180 - son was dead and is alive again ; was lost and is
Page 478 - And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.
Page 521 - And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit.
Page 375 - For I know this, that after my departing shall grievous wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock. * Also of your own selves shall men arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away disciples after them.
Page 26 - tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Page 375 - I have shewed you all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.
Page 432 - AH ! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way. Ah ! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May.

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