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Page 7 - I need Thy presence every passing hour : What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter's power? Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be ? Through cloud and sunshine, LORD, abide with me.
Page 23 - The Greek Testament: with a critically revised Text; a Digest of Various Readings; Marginal References to verbal and Idiomatic Usage; Prolegomena; and a Critical and Exegetical Commentary. For the Use of Theological Students and Ministers, By HENRY ALFORD, DD, Dean of Canterbury. Vol. I., containing the Four Gospels.
Page 56 - GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting; The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.
Page 56 - The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For, having lost...
Page 115 - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Page 122 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Page 32 - A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone ; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. 5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away ; They fly forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day...
Page 22 - There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Page 117 - TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale, With hospitable ray. " For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow ; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem length'ning as I go." " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.