First Book of Nature

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Contributor Company, 1888 - 265 стор.

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Сторінка 238 - If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.
Сторінка 205 - ... so hard as never to betray the touch or moulder away beneath the steel ; and so admirably crystallized and of such permanent elements, that no rains dissolve it, no time changes it, no atmosphere decomposes it ; once shaped, it is shaped forever, unless subjected to actual violence or attrition.
Сторінка 182 - My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me, — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever.
Сторінка 256 - He telleth the number of the stars, and calleth them all by their names.
Сторінка 238 - O ! who can lift above a careless look, While such bright scenes as these his thoughts engage, And doubt, while reading from so fair a book, That God's own finger traced the glowing page, Or deem the radiance of yon blue expanse, With all its starry hosts, the careless work of Chance?
Сторінка 232 - ... from the records of time. Kings and conquerors have marched at the head of armies across continents, and piled up aggregates of human suffering and experience to the heavens, and all the physical traces of their march have totally disappeared; but the solitary biped which stalked along the margins of a New England inlet before the human race was born, pressed footprints in the soft and shifting sand which the rising and sinking of the continent could not wipe out.
Сторінка 130 - He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase: this is also vanity.
Сторінка 95 - Rot him on board, he broke off about three feet of the ship's bulwarks by a single lash of his tremendous tail. This was then cut off by the boatswain with a hatchet, while a dozen of us with bowie-knives finished him. We found in his stomach six large snakes, two empty quart bottles, two...
Сторінка 228 - The crust of our earth is a great cemetery where the rocks are tombstones on which the buried dead have written their own epitaphs.
Сторінка 205 - It is neither hard nor brittle, nor flaky, nor splintery, but uniform and delicately, yet not ignobly soft — exactly soft enough to allow the sculptor to work it without force, and trace on it the finest lines of finished form...

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