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Page 82 - Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind...
Page 100 - Spirits could spin porphyry as we do glass, — the traceries of intricate silver, and fringes of amber, lustrous, arborescent, burnished through every fibre into fitful brightness and glossy traverses of silken change, yet all subdued and pensive, and framed for simplest, sweetest offices of grace.
Page 327 - There are three things that are never satisfied, yea, four things say not, It is enough : The grave; and the barren womb; the earth that is not filled with water; and the fire that saith not, It is enough.
Page 209 - For in the hand of the LORD there is a cup, and the wine is red ; it is full of mixture ; and he poureth out of the same: but the dregs thereof, all the wicked of the earth shall wring them out, and drink them.
Page 76 - They shall not build, and another inhabit; they shall not plant, and another eat: for as the days of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands.
Page 299 - Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honor to the world's great Author rise...
Page 100 - And, as the earth's first mercy, so they are its last gift to us. When all other service is vain, from plant and tree, the soft mosses and gray lichen take up their watch by the head-stone.
Page 92 - But the leaves of the herbage at our feet take all kinds of strange shapes, as if to invite us to examine them. Starshaped, heart-shaped, spear-shaped, arrow-shaped, fretted, fringed, cleft, furrowed, serrated, sinuated ; in whorls, in tufts, in spires, in wreaths endlessly expressive, deceptive, fantastic, never the same from footstalk to blossom ; they seem perpetually to tempt our watchfulness, and take delight in outstripping our wonder.
Page 310 - Almightie selfe she did maligne, Because to man so mercifull he was, And unto all his creatures so benigne, Sith she herselfe was of his grace indigne : For all this worlds faire workmanship she tride Unto his last confusion to bring, And that great golden chaine quite to divide, With which it blessed Concord hath together tide.