Fireside Papers

Front Cover
Sherman, French, 1915 - American essays - 357 pages
These "Fireside Papers" are all the flying years have left me of many happy hours . . In them linger the thoughts, hopes, and remembrances of evenings gladdened by the sweet fellowship of friends that age not with the failing strength of those who have loved them and who will always love them. The ancients called all good books a " Treasury of Remedies for the Mind," but they are more than that, for in them gather what is best in every age and land. The philosophers, poets, and teachers of all time are with us still. When they were on earth, as we are at the present moment, they were called living men and women; and now that we see them no more with the natural eye, we think of them as dead. Nevertheless they are not dead, but live and breathe and have their being in many books of priceless value.
 

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Page 75 - Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of Truth, in endless Error hurl'd: The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
Page 149 - Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies.
Page 250 - There be four things which are little upon the earth, but they are exceeding wise : the ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare their meat in the summer ; the conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they their houses in the rocks; the locusts have no king, yet go they forth all of them by bands; the spider taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings
Page 260 - And surely your blood of your lives will I require ; at the hand of every beast will I require it, and at the hand of man ; at the hand of every man's brother will I require the life of man. Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed : for in the image of God made he man.
Page 99 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...
Page 331 - And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears, And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years...
Page 312 - Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
Page 166 - Master of human destinies am I ! Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait, Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace— soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate! If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate...
Page 313 - What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the Stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Page 48 - I suppose, have thus suffered; and if I had to live my life again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week; for perhaps the parts of my brain now atrophied would thus have been kept active through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.

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