Manuela Parédes

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Roberts brothers, 1881 - 387 pages
 

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Page 27 - The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of the sense; the last was the light of reason; and His sabbath work ever since is the illumination of His Spirit.
Page 169 - I breathed a song into the air, I i. fell to earth, I knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong. That it can follow the flight of song • Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke ; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend, SONNETS.
Page 27 - Whose fountain who shall tell ? before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Page 146 - Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God.
Page 161 - For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been...
Page 228 - God said, let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowls of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.
Page 19 - The lowness of the present state, That sets the past in this relief? Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far; And orb into the perfect star We saw not, when we moved therein?
Page 88 - In caves lie coiled the dragon's ancient brood, The crag leaps down, and over it the flood: Know'st thou it then ? 'Tis there! 'Tis there Our way runs : O my father, wilt thou go...
Page 60 - Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her!
Page 55 - Clothing the palpable and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn. Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished — and returns not.

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