The birth-place, home, churches, and other places connected with the author of 'The Christian year', illustr. in 32 photogr. by W. Savage, Volum 96

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Passatges populars

PÓgina 88 - The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.
PÓgina 137 - And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of .Man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle.
PÓgina 76 - How blest the sacred tie that binds In union sweet according minds ! How swift the heavenly course they run, Whose hearts, whose 'faith, whose hopes are one ! 2.
PÓgina 147 - Earth to earth, and dust to dust, the solemn priest hath said ; So we lay the turf above thee now, and we seal thy narrow bed ; But thy spirit, brother, soars away among the faithful blest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.
PÓgina 146 - Sundays the pillars are, On which heaven's palace arched lies : The other days fill up the spare And hollow room with vanities.
PÓgina 94 - They shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the water courses. Isaiah, xliv. 4. ESSONS sweet of spring returning, Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! May I call ye sense or learning, Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art ? Be your title what it may, Sweet the lengthening April day, While with you the soul is free, Ranging wild o'er hill and lea.
PÓgina 146 - The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King : On Sundays heaven's door stands ope ; Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope.
PÓgina 140 - With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place, where human harvests grow ! TO THE RIVER CHARLES.
PÓgina 140 - Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom...
PÓgina 150 - To thee, all Angels cry aloud; the Heavens, and all the Powers therein. To thee, Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth; Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty of thy Glory.

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