Works, Volum 17

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Pàgines seleccionades

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Frases i termes més freqüents

Passatges populars

Pàgina 193 - God shall wound the head of his enemies, and the hairy scalp of such a one as goeth on still in his wickedness.
Pàgina 168 - And he saw that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant; and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.
Pàgina 353 - Was thy tempestuous road ; Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way. But thee, a soft and naked child, Thy mother undefiled, In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast. The heavens were not commanded to prepare A gorgeous canopy of golden air ; Nor stoop'd their lamps th...
Pàgina 307 - And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Pàgina 185 - Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth. O, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.
Pàgina 170 - Thou art the firm unshaken rock, On which we rest , And, rising from thy hardy stock, Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock, And slavery's galling chains unlock, And free the oppressed : All, who the wreath of freedom twine, Beneath the shadow of their vine Are blest.
Pàgina 352 - My wish is to cut off the pale-faces. This must be done, or the pale-faces will cut off the Injins. There is no choice. One nation or the other must be destroyed. I am a red man; my heart tells me that the pale-faces should die. They are on strange hunting-grounds, not the red men. They are wrong, we are right. But, Bourdon, I have friends among the pale-faces, and it is not natural to scalp our friends. I do not understand a religion that tells us to love our enemies, and to do good to them that...
Pàgina 246 - Would, like the Patriarch's, soothe a dying hour, With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing, As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlit bower ; With look, like patient Job's, eschewing evil ; With motions graceful as a bird's in air ; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil That e'er clenched fingers in a captive's hair?
Pàgina 383 - Lord ! the heathen tread The branches of thy fruitful vine, That its luxurious tendrils spread O'er all the hills of Palestine. And now the wild boar comes to waste Even us, the greenest boughs and last, That, drinking of thy choicest dew, On Zion's hill, in beauty grew. No ! by the marvels of thine hand, Thou still wilt save thy chosen land ! By all thine ancient mercies shown, By all our fathers...
Pàgina 9 - How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!

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