The romance of Jewish history, by the misses C. and M. Moss

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Page 95 - They never fail who die In a great cause : the block may soak their gore ; Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs Be strung to city gates and castle walls — But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years Elapse, and others share as dark a doom, They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts Which overpower all others, and conduct The world at last to freedom.
Page 332 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Page 263 - I command thee this day, thou and thy children, with all thine heart, and with all thy soul ; that then the Lord thy God will turn thy captivity, and have compassion upon thee, and will return and gather thee from all the nations whither the Lord thy God hath scattered thee.
Page 243 - And how felt he, the wretched man Reclining there — while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life , Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace! "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones — "thou blessed child!
Page 167 - Thy father made our yoke grievous : now therefore make thou the grievous service of thy father, and his heavy yoke which he put upon us, lighter, and we will serve thee.
Page 152 - What pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country ! Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends ? I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood Secure and flourished in a civil war.
Page 189 - O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deem'd divine — Jehovah's vessels hold The godless Heathen's wine. In that same hour and hall, The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man ; — A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand.
Page 263 - How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people ! How is she become as a widow ! She that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces, How is she become tributary...
Page 94 - Oh, Love ! what is it in this world of ours, Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah ! why With cypress branches hast thou wreath'd thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh...
Page 248 - Gibbon's Decline and fall, vol. vi. p. 320. ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 1. 1 1s done — but yesterday a King ! And arm'd with Kings to strive — And now thou art a nameless thing So abject — yet alive...

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