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Page 241 - ... and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind.
Page 423 - Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar : and he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips ; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.
Page 107 - Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge ; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.
Page 100 - Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Page 341 - When a prophet speaketh in the name of the Lord, if the thing follow not, nor come to pass, that is the thing which the Lord hath not spoken, but the prophet hath spoken it presumptuously: thou shalt not be afraid of him.
Page 107 - For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
Page 108 - Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the precious lifeblood of a master-spirit embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
Page 110 - With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky With hideous ruin and combustion down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In adamantine* chains and penal fire, Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.
Page 29 - ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, — 'Guess now who holds thee?' - 'Death,' I said. But, there, The silver answer rang, — 'Not Death, but Love.
Page 540 - COLD in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee ; Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave ! Have I forgot, my only love, to love thee, Severed at last by time's all-severing wave ? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy noble heart for ever, ever more ? Cold in the earth, and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring ; Faithful indeed is the spirit that...