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Page 194 - And, lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument: for they hear thy words, but they do them not.
Page 144 - Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large; Take it. — You're welcome.— No extra charge.) FIRST OF NOVEMBER — the Earthquake-day.
Page 143 - He would build one shay to beat the taown 'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ; It should be so built that it couldn' break daown . — " Fur," said the Deacon, " 't's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' stan the strain ; 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, Is only jest T" make that place uz strong uz the rest.
Page 92 - Twentyseven names make up the first story before the flood, and the recorded names ever since contain not one living century. The number of the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. The night of time far surpasseth the day, and who knows when was the equinox?
Page 184 - Sun of our life, Thy quickening ray Sheds on our path the glow of day ; Star of our hope, Thy softened light Cheers the long watches of the night. 3 Our midnight is Thy smile withdrawn ; Our noontide is Thy gracious dawn ; Our rainbow arch Thy mercy's sign ; All, save the clouds of sin, are Thine.
Page 143 - Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren — where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; — it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. Eighteen hundred increased by ten; "Hahnsum kerridge
Page 52 - Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
Page 152 - Little I ask; my wants are few ; I only wish a hut of stone, (A very plain brown stone will do,) That I may call my own; — And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten; — If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen! I always thought cold victual nice; — My choice would be vanilla-ice. I...
Page 49 - I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, — but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.
Page 173 - Whose song has told their hearts' sad story, — Weep for the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of glory ! Not where Leucadian breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.