ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
لم نعثر على أي مراجعات في الأماكن المعتادة.
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
allowed Annie answered arms beautiful Bemroses better blind bright bring brother chair CHAPTER Cloth comfort companions cried Crown dead dear death door dying eyes face farm father favourite feel felt fire follow friends gentle giving Gordon grief hands happy Harry head hear heard heart heaven Hewson higher hope hour hymn Illustrated Institution Jack Jenny join Kilburn kind kiss knew laugh leave letter light lips listen London look loved months mother neat Nelly never night once passed passion Paul Fenton play poor prayer pressed Price returned round seemed seen ship side sing sister soft soon sound steal step sure surrounded sweet tears tell thank thing thought tones took tried troubled turned voice weeping Welburn wounded young
الصفحة 54 - And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, Or dim suffusion veiled.
الصفحة 81 - There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.
الصفحة 86 - Oh! when the heart is full — when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance, And the poor common words of courtesy Are such a very mockery — how much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
الصفحة 52 - Thy sinless land, Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go; Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng, From angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song.
الصفحة 56 - I not cast down. I am weak, yet strong ; I murmur not that I no longer see ; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father Supreme ! to Thee.
الصفحة 91 - Lord ; wait patiently for Him ; and He will give thee Thy heart's desire.
الصفحة 56 - Paradise refresh my brow, That earth in darkness lies. In a purer clime My being fills with rapture, — waves of thought Roll in upon my spirit, — strains sublime Break over me unsought. Give me now my lyre ! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine: Within my bosom glows unearthly fire Lit by no skill of mine.