Practical Ethics

الغلاف الأمامي
H. Holt, 1892 - 208 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 83 - Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl, in rock and plain In earth and heaven, in glade and bower Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. 'She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm* Of mute insensate things.
الصفحة 84 - Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth...
الصفحة 82 - Nor less I deem that there are powers Which of themselves our minds impress ; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness.
الصفحة 115 - For life, with all it yields of joy and woe, And hope and fear, - believe the aged friend, Is just our chance o...
الصفحة 93 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
الصفحة 101 - He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. " He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all.
الصفحة 99 - I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God...
الصفحة 75 - Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, Or left unthought-of in obscurity, — Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not — Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won...
الصفحة 33 - A second man I honour and still more highly, him who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable, not daily bread but the bread of life.
الصفحة 79 - Forevermore ! Revile him not — the Tempter hath A snare for all ; And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, Befit his fall ! Oh ! dumb be passion's stormy rage, When he who might Have lighted up and led his age, Falls back in night.

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