Charles Kingsley's Works, Volum 1

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Macmillan and Company, 1884
 

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Passatges populars

Pàgina 22 - A fiery soul, which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay...
Pàgina 415 - Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.
Pàgina 250 - They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee.
Pàgina 337 - Out among the eternities an' the realities — it's no that dreary outlook, after a', to find truth an' fact — naught but truth an' fact — e'en beside the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched ! " " God forbid !
Pàgina xxiv - Amaziah, I was no prophet, neither was I a prophet's son ; but I was an herdman, and a gatherer of sycamore fruit:* And the LORD took me as I followed the flock, and the LORD said unto me, Go, prophesy unto my people Israel.
Pàgina 182 - I have seen all the works that are done under the sun ; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. That which is crooked cannot be made straight ; and that which is wanting cannot be numbered.
Pàgina lii - ... or thought of. The antinomy between this and their own conscience may be painful enough to them some day. To what thinking man is it not a life-long battle ? but I shall not dream that by denying one pole of the antinomy I can solve it, or do anything but make them, by cynicism or fanaticism, bury their talent in the earth, and not do the work which God has given them to do, because they will act like a parson who, before beginning his sermon, should first kick his congregation out of doors,...
Pàgina 315 - The old laws of England— they Whose reverend heads with age are grey, Children of a wiser day ; And whose solemn voice must be Thine own echo— Liberty 1 LXXXIV.
Pàgina 378 - THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Pàgina 181 - O that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest — Ps.

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