The Year Book of American Authors

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Raphael Tuck and Sons, 1894 - American literature - 371 pages
 

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Page 111 - If we work upon marble, it will perish ; if we work upon brass, time will efface it; if we rear temples, they will crumble into dust; but if we work upon immortal minds, if we imbue them with principles, with the just fear of God and love of our fellow-men, we engrave on those tablets something which will brighten to all eternity.
Page 288 - Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules ; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said : "Now must we pray, For lo ! the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say...
Page 138 - Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.
Page 250 - If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! — No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
Page 35 - And that which fell among thorns are they, which, when they have heard, go forth, and are choked with cares and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to perfection.
Page 86 - My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me, — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever.
Page 71 - Poor Indeed thou must be, if around thee Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw — If no silken cord of love hath bound thee To some little world through weal and woe...
Page 26 - I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.
Page 219 - And thou an angel's happiness shall know; Shalt bless the earth while in the world above ; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits...
Page 345 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home, Home, sweet, sweet Home ! There's no place like Home...

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