The Soldier-boy

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Putnam, 1916 - 116 стор.
 

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Сторінка 35 - The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them. " In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die; and their departure is taken for misery. I " And their going from us to be utter destruction ; but they are in peace.
Сторінка 64 - For the love of God is broader Than the measures of man's mind, And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind...
Сторінка 20 - And will be, tho' as yet I keep Within his court on earth, and sleep Encompass'd by his faithful guard, And hear at times a sentinel Who moves about from place to place, And whispers to the worlds of space, In the deep night, that all is well. CXXVII. And all is well, tho...
Сторінка 9 - Is it well with thee ? is it well with thy husband ? is it well with the child ? And she answered, It is well.
Сторінка 21 - It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long way to go; It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know ! Good-bye Piccadilly, Farewell, Leicester Square, It's a long, long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there!
Сторінка 57 - And so, I find it well to come For deeper rest to this still room, For here the habit of the soul, Feels less the outer world's control ; The strength of mutual purpose pleads More earnestly our common needs ; And from the silence multiplied By these still forms on either side, The world that time and sense have known Falls off and leaves us God alone.
Сторінка 112 - I should be sorry if I had any earthly fame, for whatever natural glory a man has is so much detracted from his spiritual glory. I wish to do nothing for profit. I wish to live for art. I want nothing whatever. I am quite happy.
Сторінка 114 - I see her not dispirited, not weak, but well remembering that she has seen dark days before : indeed, with a kind of instinct that she sees a little better in a cloudy day, and that in storm of battle and calamity, she has a secret vigour and a pulse like a cannon.
Сторінка 46 - What have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere, As the Lord were walking near, Whispering terrible things and dear As the Song on your bugles blown, England — Round the world on your bugles blown!
Сторінка 46 - Ever the faith endures, England, my England: — "Take and break us: we are yours, England, my own! Life Is good, and joy runs high Between English earth and sky; Death Is death; but we shall die To the Song on your bugles blown, England— To the stars on your bugles blown!

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