Hours with the mystics: a contribution to the history of religious opinion. , revised by the author, Volumen1

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Página 21 - Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
Página 165 - To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel. My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
Página 280 - For both He that sanctifieth and they that are sanctified are all of one : for which cause He is not ashamed to call them brethren...
Página 283 - He who loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how shall he love God whom he hath not seen ? You, Mr.
Página 45 - Wise men, who have abandoned all thought of the fruit which is produced from their actions, are freed from the chains of birth, and go to the regions of eternal happiness''.
Página 16 - I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not, The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow...
Página 182 - ... far as he may apprehend therein the pure good which is God. And as little as the bright eye can endure aught foreign in it, so little can the pure soul bear anything in it, any stain, aught between it and God. To it all creatures are pure to enjoy, for it enjoyeth all creatures in God, and God in all creatures.
Página 71 - Beautiful within itself, seeks to realize beauty without, by laborious production. His aim should rather be to concentrate and simplify, and so to expand his being ; instead of going out into the Manifold, to forsake it for the One, and so to float upwards towards the divine fount of being whose stream flows within him.
Página 75 - And art thou nothing ? Such thou art, as when The woodman winding westward up the glen At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze, Sees full before him, gliding without tread, An image* with a glory round its head ; The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues, Nor knows he makes the shadow he pursues...
Página 24 - And yet what bliss, When dying in the darkness of God's light, The soul can pierce these blinding webs of nature, And float up to The Nothing, which is all things— The ground of being, where self-forgetful silence Is emptiness,—emptiness fulness,—fulness God,— Till we touch Him, and like a snow-flake, melt Upon His light-sphere's keen circumference ! ELIZ.

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