Father Tom: Life and Lectures of Rev. Thomas P. McLoughlin

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G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1919 - 400 pages
 

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Page 250 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ;' Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Page 250 - Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will. And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.
Page 290 - WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain: — " Rule, Britannia, rule the waves ; Britons never will be slaves.
Page 249 - OH ! the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove ; When my dream of life from morn till night Was love, still love. New hope may bloom, And days may come Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream : No, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.
Page 349 - We may not know, we cannot tell, what pains he had to bear, but we believe it was for us he hung and suffered there.
Page 302 - Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that ? The coward slave — we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Page 302 - Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Page 391 - I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless; ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Page 391 - Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!
Page 350 - Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.

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