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Seite 98 - The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice : the floods lift up their waves. The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters : yea, than the mighty waves of the sea.
Seite 206 - RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace ; Rise from transitory things, Towards heaven, thy native place : Sun, and moon, and stars decay, Time shall soon this earth remove ; Rise, my soul, and haste away To seats prepared above.
Seite 214 - My native country! thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills, .Like that above.
Seite 345 - We'll crowd thy gates with thankful songs, High as the heavens our voices raise, And Earth, with her ten thousand tongues, Shall fill thy courts with sounding praise.
Seite 153 - WHEN all Thy mercies, O my God, My rising soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In wonder, love, and praise.
Seite 212 - He giveth snow like wool : he scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes. He casteth forth his ice like morsels : who can stand before his cold ? He sendeth out his word, and melteth them : he causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow.
Seite 91 - ... military air, in which there was but little to find fault with. All the muskets had bayonets, and the sharpshooters had rifles. The men all stood so still that we were filled with wonder. Not one of them made a single motion as if he would speak with his neighbor. Nay more, all the lads that stood there in rank and file, kind nature had formed so trim, so slender, so nervous, that it was a pleasure to look at them, and we were all surprised at the sight of such a handsome, wellformed race."*...
Seite 347 - Traveller, ages are its own ; See, it bursts o'er all the earth. 3 Watchman, tell us of the night, For the morning seems to dawn. Traveller, darkness takes its flight; Doubt and terror are withdrawn. Watchman, let thy wanderings cease ; Hie thee to thy quiet home. Traveller, lo ! the Prince of Peace, Lo ! the Son of God is come.
Seite 58 - WHERE shall rest be found, — Rest for the weary soul ? 'T were vain the ocean depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole. 2 The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh ; 'T is not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.