The Canadian Monthly and National Review, 10. köide

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Graeme Mercer Adam, George Stewart
Adam, Stevenson & Company, 1876

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Page 38 - There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds. He fought his doubts and gather'd strength, He would not make his judgment blind, He faced the spectres of the mind And laid them : thus he came at length To find a stronger faith his own...
Page 403 - A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue — Could you but find it — to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to THE MASTER too...
Page 402 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend ; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie. Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries, " Fools ! your Reward is neither Here nor There.
Page 402 - The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two — is gone.
Page 402 - Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
Page 348 - For from cock-crow he had been travelling, And there was not a cloud in the sky. He drank of the water so cool and clear, For thirsty and hot was he ; And he sat down upon the bank, Under the willow-tree.
Page 404 - Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose ! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
Page 404 - Ah Love ! could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits — and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Page 307 - Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand ; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain. 2 What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile : In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of GOD are strewn ; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.
Page 404 - Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, • •*" •, That Life is ever lord of Death, ^ j^* And Love can never lose its own!

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