The Rambler, a Catholic journal of home and foreign literature [&c.]. Vol.5-new [3rd] [Vol.11 of the new [2nd] ser. is imperf. Continued as The Home and foreign review]. (Google eBook)

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Page 59 - The very God! think, Abib; dost thou think? So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too — So, through the thunder comes a human voice Saying, "O heart I made, a heart beats here! "Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself! "Thou hast no power nor may'st conceive of mine, "But love I gave thee, with myself to love, "And thou must love me who have died for thee!
Page 65 - Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift, That I doubt his own love can compete with it? Here, the parts shift? Here, the creature surpass the Creator, — the end, what Began? Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man, And dare doubt he alone shall not help him, who yet alone can?
Page 65 - Tis the weakness in strength that I cry for ! my flesh, that I seek In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee : a Man like to me, Thou shalt love and be loved by, for ever ! a Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ stand!
Page 58 - So, boy, you're minded," quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth, 'twas refection-time, — "To quit this very miserable world? "Will you renounce" . . . "the mouthful of bread?" thought I; By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me; I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to — all at eight years old.
Page 63 - This : no artist lives and loves, that longs not Once, and only once, and for one only, (Ah, the prize !) to find his love a language Fit and fair and simple and sufficient— Using nature that 's an art to others, Not, this one time, art that's turned his nature.
Page 406 - Pretty ! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms ! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.
Page 64 - Say rather that my fate is deadlier still, In this, that every day my sense of joy Grows more acute, my soul (intensified By power and insight) more enlarged, more keen ; While every day my hairs fall more and more, My hand shakes, and the heavy years increase — The horror quickening still from year to year, The consummation coming past escape When I shall know most, and yet...
Page 173 - Again, when the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.
Page 217 - Te gloriosus Apostolorum chorus, Te prophetarum laudabilis numerus, Te Martyrum candidatus laudat exercitus. Te per orbem terrarum sancta confitetur Ecclesia, Patrem...
Page 219 - I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.

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