McClure's Magazine ..., المجلد 10

الغلاف الأمامي
S.S. McClure, Limited, 1898

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الصفحة 90 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
الصفحة 170 - Give to the winds thy fears ; Hope, and be undismayed; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head. Through waves and clouds and storms He gently clears thy way; Wait thou His time, so shall this night Soon end in joyous day.
الصفحة 90 - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain. Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
الصفحة 172 - O GOD of Bethel, by whose hand Thy people still are fed, Who through this weary pilgrimage Hast all our fathers led...
الصفحة 36 - The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek and tresses gray Seemed to have known a better day: The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy: The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry.
الصفحة 171 - Not the labours of my hands can fulfil thy law's demands; could my zeal no respite know, could my tears for ever flow, all for sin could not atone: thou must save, and thou alone.
الصفحة 169 - Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home — Lead Thou me on! Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene, — one step enough for me.
الصفحة 312 - Tis well," said he. About ten minutes before he expired (which was between ten and eleven o'clock), his breathing became easier. He lay quietly; he withdrew his hand from mine, and felt his own pulse. I saw his countenance change. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who sat by the fire. He came to the bedside. The General's hand fell from his wrist. I took it in mine, and pressed it to my bosom. Dr. Craik put his hands over his eyes, and he expired without a struggle or a sigh. While we were fixed in silent grief,...
الصفحة 171 - ROCK of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee ! Let the water and the blood. From thy riven side which flow'd, Be of sin the double cure ; Cleanse me from its guilt and power...
الصفحة 167 - God's word, for all their craft and force, One moment will not linger, But, spite of hell, shall have its course; 'Tis written by his finger. And, though they take our life, Goods, honour, children, wife, Yet is their profit small; These things shall vanish all: The city of God remaineth.

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