The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 101

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Atlantic Monthly Company, 1908
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Page 491 - Our soul is escaped even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler ; the snare is broken, and we are delivered.
Page 435 - This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me.
Page 371 - For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and .all the wonder that would be; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'da ghastly dew From the nations...
Page 581 - They meant to set up a standard maxim for free society, which should be familiar to all, and revered by all, constantly looked to, constantly labored for, and even though never perfectly attained, constantly approximated, and thereby constantly spreading and deepening its influence and augmenting the happiness and value of life to all people of all colors everywhere.
Page 210 - Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about. Content to let the north- wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat The frost-line back with tropic heat ; And ever, when a louder blast , Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed...
Page 211 - How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view; The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew.
Page 210 - The house-dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head, The cat's dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; And, for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons...
Page 290 - No man has come to true greatness who has not felt, in some degree, that his life belongs to his race, and that what God gives him He gives him for mankind.
Page 442 - They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.
Page 389 - words of art" as he calls them, which Philemon Holland, a voluminous translator at the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth century...

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