Leisure hours in town, by the author of The recreations of a country parson

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Parker Son and Bourn West Strand, 1862 - 382 pages

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Page 130 - Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain : that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you.
Page 77 - BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.
Page 78 - Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper and then a silence, Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall, By three doors left unguarded, They enter my castle wall. They climb up into my turret, O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere.
Page 139 - Nevertheless I am continually with thee: Thou hast holden me by my right hand. Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, And afterward receive me to glory.
Page 78 - I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away...
Page 55 - Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and steer Right onward.
Page 111 - Touch us gently, Time ! Let us glide adown thy stream, Gently, — as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream. Humble voyagers are we, Husband, wife, and children three — One is lost, — an angel, fled To the azure overhead. Touch us gently, Time ! We've not proud nor soaring wings : Our ambition, our content, Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are we O'er life's dim unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime : — Touch us gently, gentle Time...
Page 132 - Well, well, — she's gone, And I have tamed my sorrow. Pain and grief Are transitory things no less than joy, And though they leave us not the men we were, Yet they do leave us. You behold me here A man bereaved, with something of a blight Upon the early blossoms of his life And its first verdure, having not the less A living root, and drawing from the earth Its vital juices, from the air its powers : And surely as man's health and strength are whole His appetites regerminate, his heart Reopens,...
Page 78 - O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I' try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all!

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