The National Magazine: Devoted to Literature, Art, and Religion, Band 13

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Abel Stevens, James Floy
Carlton & Phillips, 1858
 

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Seite 156 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face, You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Seite 226 - So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.
Seite 225 - Slay my two sons, if I bring him not to thee: deliver him into my hand, and I will bring him to thee again. And he said, My son shall not go down with you; for his brother is dead, and he is left alone: if mischief befall him by the way in the which ye go, then shall ye bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.
Seite 49 - I know not the day of my death : now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison ; and make me savoury meat, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I may eat ; that my soul may bless thee before I die.
Seite 322 - I hang like a roof — The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch, through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow...
Seite 152 - Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro, Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood ; And where this valley winded out, below, The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.
Seite 435 - But think on me when it shall be well with thee, and shew kindness, I pray thee, unto me, and make mention of me unto Pharaoh, and bring me out of this house: for indeed I was stolen away out of the land of the Hebrews: and here also have I done nothing that they should put me into the dungeon.
Seite 142 - Thou struggles! to get free, I never will unloose my hold ! Art Thou the Man that died for me ? The secret of Thy love unfold ; Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, Till I Thy name, Thy nature know.
Seite 477 - I thank Thee more that all our joy Is touched with pain ; That shadows fall on brightest hours ; That thorns remain ; So that earth's bliss may be our guide, And not our chain.
Seite 22 - The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism on the one part, and degrading submissions on the other.

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