The Life of the Spirit

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Dodd, Mead, 1899 - Christian life - 361 pages
 

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Page 296 - But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized...
Page 139 - Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress ; so our eyes wait upon the LORD our God, until that he have mercy upon us.
Page 230 - LONG I followed happy guides, I could never reach their sides ; Their step is forth, and, ere the day Breaks up their leaguer, and away. Keen my sense, my heart was young, Right good-will my sinews strung, But no speed of mine avails To hunt upon their shining trails. On and away, their hasting feet Make the morning proud and sweet...
Page 36 - And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
Page 56 - We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show...
Page 295 - Who order'd, that their longing's fire Should be, as soon as kindled, cool'd? Who renders vain their deep desire? — A God, a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.
Page 293 - With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone. The islands feel the enclasping flow, And then their endless bounds they know. But when the moon their hollows lights, And they are swept by balms of spring, And in their glens, on starry nights, The nightingales divinely sing; And lovely notes, from shore to shore, Across the sounds and channels pour — Oh!
Page 274 - A Moment's Halt — a momentary taste Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste — And Lo! — the phantom Caravan has reach'd The NOTHING it set out from — Oh, make haste!
Page 274 - Let some beneficent divinity snatch him, when a suckling, from the breast of his mother, and nurse him with the milk of a better time, that he may ripen to his full stature beneath a distant Grecian sky. And having grown to manhood, let him return, a foreign shape, into his century ; not, however, to delight it by his presence, but dreadful, like the Son of Agamemnon, to purify it.
Page 293 - YES! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone.

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