Aldyth; Or, "Let the End Try the Man.", Том 2

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H.S. King, 1877
 

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Сторінка 263 - I HELD it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
Сторінка 201 - First our pleasures die — and then Our hopes, and then our fears — and when These are dead, the debt is due, Dust claims dust — and we die too.
Сторінка 119 - ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on. The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground.
Сторінка 260 - Cross therefore is always ready, and everywhere waits for thee. Thou canst not escape it whithersoever thou runnest ; for wheresoever thou goest, thou carriest thyself with thee, and shalt ever find thyself.
Сторінка 260 - Thou art deceived, thou art deceived if thou seek any other thing than to suffer tribulations; for this whole mortal life is full of miseries, and marked on every side with crosses.
Сторінка 263 - But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match? Or reach a hand thro' time to catch The far-off interest of tears?
Сторінка 248 - I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song. "Cusha! Cusha!
Сторінка 219 - ... sooth, that still together On either brink we go hand in hand, The beck grows wider, the hands must sever. On either margin, our songs all done, We move apart, while she singeth ever, Taking the course of the stooping sun. He prays, "Come over...
Сторінка 270 - Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut, Or breaking into song by fits, Alone, alone, to where he sits, The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot, Who keeps the keys of all the creeds, I wander, often falling lame, And looking back to whence I came, Or on to where the pathway leads; And crying, How changed from where it ran Thro...
Сторінка 62 - But, children, you should never let Your angry passions rise ; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes.

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