The cruise of the Midge. By the author of 'Tom Cringle's log'.

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Page 135 - They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits
Page 398 - The LORD shall cause thee to be smitten before thine enemies: thou shalt go out one way against them, and flee seven ways before them: and shalt be removed into all the kingdoms of the earth. 26 And thy carcase shall be meat unto all fowls of the air, and unto the beasts of the earth, and no man shall fray them away.
Page 135 - They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.
Page 366 - And Moses stretched forth his rod toward heaven: and the LORD sent thunder and hail, and the fire ran along upon the ground; and the LORD rained hail upon the land of Egypt.
Page 135 - They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters ; These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.
Page 240 - O Woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made, When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou ! — Scarce were the piteous accents said, When, with the Baron's casque, the maid To the nigh streamlet ran.
Page 400 - Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes, they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope. — Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Page 432 - For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environed with a wilderness of sea ; Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
Page 246 - Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook Fair? An Irishman, all in his glory, is there, With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green!
Page 152 - Those wandering veins of heavenly blue, That stray along thy forehead fair, Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair ? Oh ! can that light and airy breath Steal from a being doomed to death ; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; Or, art thou, what thy form would seem, The phantom of a blessed dream...

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