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G. Collins, 1855 - 308 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 210 - Even unto this present hour we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwellingplace ; and labour, working with our own hands...
Pàgina 224 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity ! Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep Haunted for ever by the eternal mind — Mighty prophet ! Seer blest, On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find...
Pàgina 17 - I was by him, as one brought up with him : and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him. Rejoicing in the habitable parts of his earth, and my delights we're with the sons of men.
Pàgina 209 - We are made a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men.
Pàgina 232 - On the other hand, those who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant child. They are the only persons who, in one sense, retain it always, and they furnish their neighbours with the same idea. The other children grow up to manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of mortality. This one alone is rendered an immortal child. Death has arrested it with his kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence.
Pàgina 210 - I write not these things to shame you, but as my beloved sons I warn you. 15 For though ye have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers : for in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the gospel.
Pàgina 224 - A SIMPLE child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage girl : She was eight years old she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid ! How many...
Pàgina 224 - Thy heritage; thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the day, a Master o'er a Slave, A presence which is not to be put by...

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