University of Ottawa Review, Volume 7

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Students of the University of Ottawa., 1904
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Page 235 - Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing.
Page 235 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Page 237 - Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man, he knows not why, — He thinks he was not made to die; And thou hast made him : thou art just.
Page 237 - What ! out of senseless Nothing to provoke A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke ! What!
Page 237 - That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Page 236 - Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, ' "* Which to discover we must travel too.
Page 183 - Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.
Page 183 - But where shall wisdom be found ? and where is the place of understanding ? Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it found in the land of the living. The depth saith, It is not in me : and the sea saith, It is not with me.
Page 410 - For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits of the Spirit; even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.
Page 457 - Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.

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