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Page 277 - His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; and his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace ; and his voice as the sound of many waters. And he had in his right hand seven stars ; and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword : and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.
Page 309 - Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word ; but in the night of death hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing. He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, "I am better now.
Page 89 - The Republicans of the United States demand a man who knows that prosperity and resumption, when they come, must come together ; that when they come they will come, hand in hand, through the golden harvest fields ; hand in hand by the whirling spindles and...
Page 311 - We go with them one and all. We are by their side on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain — on all the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the wild storm and under the quiet stars.
Page 308 - While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust. Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For whether in mid-sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all.
Page 311 - ... and some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave words spoken in the old tones to drive from their hearts the awful fear.
Page 240 - Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them ; for I, the Lord, thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me, and showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me and keep my commandments.
Page 28 - The laugh of a child will make the holiest day more sacred still. Strike with hand of fire, O weird musician, thy harp strung with Apollo's golden hair; fill the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until thy silver notes do touch and kiss the moonlit waves, and charm the lovers wandering 'mid the vine-clad hills.