The History of David Grieve

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Grosset & Dunlap, 1891 - 576 páginas

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Página 109 - tis Love! Thou diedst for me, I hear thy whisper in my heart. The morning breaks, the shadows flee: . Pure Universal Love thou art; To me, to all, thy bowels move, Thy nature and thy name is Love.
Página 200 - Brightening with beams the morning pale. And burning in the mid-day sky, Quench thou the fires of hate and strife, The wasting fever of the heart ; From perils guard our feeble life, And to our souls thy peace impart.
Página 54 - Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn, Or satiate fury, yield it from our Foe. Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, The seat of Desolation, void of light...
Página 25 - He who loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how shall he love God whom he hath not seen ? You, Mr.
Página 538 - Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed.
Página 137 - Vast Superstition ! Glorious style of weakness ! Sprung from the deep disquiet of man's passion, To dissolution and despair of Nature : Thy texts bring princes' titles into question : Thy prophets set on work the sword of tyrants : They manacle sweet Truth with their distinctions : Let Virtue blood : teach Cruelty for God's sake ; Fashioning one God ; yet Him of many fashions, Like many-headed Error, in their passions. Mankind...
Página 109 - In vain thou strugglest to get free, I never will unloose my hold! Art thou the Man that died for me? The secret of thy love unfold; Wrestling, I will not let thee go, Till I thy name, thy nature know.
Página 109 - Come, O thou Traveller unknown, Whom still I hold, but cannot see; My company before is gone, And I am left alone with Thee ; With Thee all night I mean to stay, And. wrestle till the break of day.
Página xvi - For every artist of whatever type there is one inexorable law. Your " criticism of life " must be fashioned under the conditions of imaginative truth and imaginative beauty. If you, being a novelist, .make a dull story, not all the religious argument in the world will or should save you. For your business is to make a novel, not a pamphlet, a reflection of human life, and not merely a record of intellectual conception. But under these conditions everything is open — try what you will — and the...

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