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Aaron Burr beauty Bishop Bishop of London Burr C. C. Little called cause character Charles River Bridge Chatterton Christ Christian Church of England clergy Constitution Court criticism declared diocese Dissenters divine doctrines election English Established Church expression fact faith favour Fcap feeling friends genius Giles Fletcher give Gospel grant Greenland heart Helluland Holy honour Icelandic influence interest island Iv.—vol Jefferson Justice labour land language learning letter liberty living matter means Mennais ment mind Missionary moral nation nature never New-York noble object opinion party peculiar Pentateuch persons piety poet poetic poetry political Pope popular present principles racter Raiatea reader religion religious remarks respect Rome Shakspeare Skalds Society Spain spirit thing thou thought tion Trades true truth Union United Vinland wages whole words writings
Page 416 - For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live in the flesh, this is the fruit of my labour: yet what I shall choose I wot not. For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ ; which is far better : nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you.
Page 272 - Let no man deceive you by any means, for that day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition : who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, shewing himself
Page 121 - The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Page 64 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Page 122 - The indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a Friend, and with His blood ; The couch of time ; care's balm and bay ; The week were dark, but for thy light ; Thy torch doth show the way.
Page 123 - Whom, if we were not very dull, We could not choose but look on still, Since there is no place so alone, The which he doth not fill. Sundays the pillars are On which heaven's palace arched lies : The other days fill up the spare And hollow room with vanities.
Page 241 - Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believed, even as the Lord gave to every man ? I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase. So then neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth ; but God that giveth the increase.
Page 219 - Throw yourself on the world without any rational plan of support, beyond what the chance employ of booksellers would afford you ! ! ! " Throw yourself rather, my dear Sir, from the steep Tarpeian rock slap-dash headlong upon iron spikes. If you had but five consolatory minutes between the desk and the bed, make much of them, and live a century in them, rather than turn slave to the Booksellers.
Page 271 - You well know, Gentlemen, how soon one of those stupendous masses, now reposing on their shadows in perfect stillness, how soon, upon any call of patriotism, or of necessity, it would assume the likeness of an animated thing, instinct with life and motion — how soon it would ruffle, as it were, its swelling plumage — how quickly it would put forth all its beauty and its bravery, collect its scattered elements of strength, and awaken its dormant thunder.
Page 120 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and...