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Page 87 - ... So has it been from the beginning, so will it be to the end. Generation after generation takes to itself the Form of a Body ; and forth-issuing from Cimmerian Night, on Heaven's mission APPEARS. What Force and Fire is in each he expends: one grinding in the mill of Industry; one hunter-like climbing the giddy Alpine heights of Science ; one madly dashed in pieces on the rocks of Strife, in war with his fellow : — and then the Heaven-sent is recalled ; his earthly Vesture falls away, and soon...
Page 182 - In Being's floods, in Action's storm, I walk and work, above, beneath, Work and weave in endless motion! Birth and Death, An infinite ocean; A seizing and giving The fire of Living: 'Tis thus at the roaring Loom of Time I ply, And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by.
Page 388 - ... nothing — like what he has done. It might seem that the genius of his face as from a height surveyed and projected him (with sufficient capacity and huge aspiration) into the world unknown of thought and imagination, with nothing to support or guide his veering purpose, as if Columbus had launched his adventurous course for the New World in a scallop, without oars or compass.
Page 208 - With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would In the days of childhood Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder Sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Page 590 - Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel...
Page 87 - On the hardest adamant some footprint of us is stamped' in ; the last Rear of the host will read traces of the earliest Van. 'But whence? — O Heaven, whither ? Sense knows not; Faith ' knows not ; only that it is through Mystery to Mystery, from ' God and to God. " We are such stuff ' As Dreams are made of, and our little life ' Is rounded with a sleep !"
Page 393 - It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Page 87 - Heaven, it is mysterious, it is awful to consider that we not only carry each a future Ghost within him ; but are, in very deed, Ghosts ! These Limbs, whence had we them ; this stormy Force ; this life-blood with its burning Passion ? They are dust and shadow ; a Shadow-system gathered round our ME ; wherein, through some moments or years, the Divine Essence is to be revealed in the Flesh.
Page 86 - Thus, were it not miraculous, could I stretch forth my hand and clutch the Sun ? Yet thou seest me daily stretch forth my hand and therewith clutch many a thing, and swing it hither and thither. Art thou a grown baby, then, to fancy that the Miracle lies in miles of distance, or in pounds avoirdupois of weight ; and not to see that the true inexplicable God-revealing Miracle...