Kavanagh: A Tale

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Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1851 - American fiction - 188 pages
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Page 34 - Yea, I think it meet, as long as I am in this tabernacle, to stir you up by putting you in remembrance ; knowing that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath shewed me.
Page 133 - I have trodden the wine-press alone, and of the people there was none with me : for I will tread them in mine anger, and trample them in my fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I will stain all my raiment.
Page 133 - WHO is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah? this that is glorious in his apparel, travelling in the greatness of his strength? I that speak in righteousness, mighty to save.
Page 72 - So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring, Love's pure congenial spring unfound, unquaffed, Suffers — recoils — then thirsty and despairing Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught ! * MARIA Go WEN BROOKS (MARIA DEL OCCIDENTE).
Page 60 - The every-day cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration, and its hands a regular motion ; and when they cease to hang upon the wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move, the clock stands still.
Page 72 - And as the dove to far Palmyra flying From where her native founts of Antioch beam, Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream ; So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring, Love's pure congenial spring unfound. unquafFd, Suffers, recoils, then, thirsty, and despairing Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught SONG.
Page 3 - ... we judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
Page 132 - THE brown Autumn came. Out of doors, it brought to the fields the prodigality of the golden harvest, — to the forest, revelations of light, — and to the sky, the sharp air, the morning mist, the red clouds at evening. Within doors, the sense of seclusion, the stillness of closed and curtained windows, musings by the fireside, books, friends, conversation, and the long, meditative evenings.
Page 187 - O graceful Universe ! nothing shall be to me too early or too late, which is seasonable to thee ! Whatever thy seasons bear shall be joyful fruit to me, O Nature ! from thee are all things ; in thee they subsist ; to thee they return.
Page 65 - If spring came but once a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with a sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation would there be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change! But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity. To most men, only the cessation of the miracle would be miraculous, and the perpetual exercise of God's power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be.

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