The Professor's Experiment

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R. F. Fenno, 1895 - 432 pages
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Page 24 - Are not my days few? Cease then, and let me alone, that I may take comfort a little before I go whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death; a land of darkness, as darkness itself, and of the shadow of death, without any order and where the light is as darkness.
Page 105 - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
Page 404 - And one, an English home— gray twilight pour'd On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep — all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Page 404 - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear ; She is coming, my life, my fate ! The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait.
Page 358 - THE upper skies are palest blue Mottled with pearl and fretted snow : With tattered fleece of inky hue Close overhead the storm-clouds go. Their shadows fly along the hill And o'er the crest mount one by one : The whitened planking of the mill Is now in shade and now in sun.
Page 200 - ther is ful many a man that crieth werre, werre, that wot ful litel what werre amounteth. Werre at his bygynnyng hath so greet an entre and so large, that every wight may entre whan him liketh, and lightly fynde werre : but certes what ende schal falle therof, it is not lightly to knowe. For sothly whan that werre is oones bygonne, ther is ful many a child unbore of his mooder that schal sterve...
Page 278 - Thou shalt set love to rhyme. Thou didst delight my ear : Ah ! little praise ; thy voice Makes other hearts rejoice, Makes all ears glad that hear ; And short my joy : but yet, O song, do not forget.
Page 35 - For the shades are about us that hover When darkness is half withdrawn And the skirts of the dead night cover The face of the live new dawn. For the past is not utterly past Though the word on its lips be the last, And the time be gone by with its creed When men were as beasts that bleed, As sheep or as swine that wallow, In the shambles of faith and of fear.
Page 49 - I could not discover: there were circumstances alleged which might have justified the application to each of these causes; but, as I have before said, these were so contradictory and contradicted, that none could be fixed upon with accuracy. Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there must also be evil...
Page 392 - Were my whole life to come one heap of troubles, The pleasure of this moment would suffice, And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance.

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