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angels beautiful bell better Bishop blessed Book bowed bright brother Christ Christian Christmas Church cold cried darkness dear death deep door earth eyes face fair fall Father feel fell fire flowers followed girl give gone green hand head hear heard heart heaven Herbert holy hope hour Irish Jack Jonathan lady leave light listen living look Lord Lysippus matter memory midnight morning nature never night once opened parson passed Patrick poor priest prison received rest Ring round saint Saul seen side sing Slingsby song soul sound Spirit of Eternity steps stood sure sweet tell thee things thou Thou hast thought told trees true turned Uncle Saul Valentine voice wind wonderful young
Página 116 - Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.
Página 87 - I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope. My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning.
Página 67 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.
Página 87 - Why art thou so heavy, O my soul? and why art thou so disquieted within me? 6 O put thy trust in GOD ; for I will yet give him thanks, which is the help of my countenance, and my GOD.
Página 38 - He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he'll be dead before.
Página 67 - The moon shines bright : — In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise ; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.
Página 68 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Página 87 - OUT of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice: let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications.