The Westminster Review, Том 160

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Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, 1903
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Стр. 642 - O woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light, quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou...
Стр. 118 - She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, Every note which he loved awaking — Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!
Стр. 654 - Ohy woman! lovely woman! nature made thee .To temper man : we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Стр. 693 - Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Стр. 404 - Ye know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them, and they that are great exercise authority upon them. But it shall not be so among you: but whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant...
Стр. 138 - So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.
Стр. 415 - I do not deny the truth of this theory: I simply deny its applicability to the present phase of the world.
Стр. 117 - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Стр. 138 - And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.
Стр. 321 - SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.

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