The Dawn of To-morrow: And Other Sermons, Delivered in the First English Lutheran Church of Kansas City, Mo, Том 2

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German Literary Board, 1911

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Стр. 221 - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Стр. 82 - Whither shall I go then from thy Spirit? Or whither shall I go then from thy presence? If I climb up into heaven, thou art there: If I go down to hell, thou art there also.
Стр. 11 - We have also a more sure word of prophecy ; whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn, and the daystar arise in your hearts: Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the Scripture is of any private interpretation.
Стр. 76 - I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me, on. I loved to choose and see my path ; but now Lead Thou me on ! I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.
Стр. 232 - But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
Стр. 114 - Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Стр. 36 - Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing.
Стр. 165 - Oh that I knew where I might find him ! that I might come even to his seat ! I would order my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments.
Стр. 100 - Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind 'away: O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!— But soft!
Стр. 110 - And others call it God. A picket frozen on duty, — A mother starved for her brood, — Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood ; And millions who, humble and nameless, The straight, hard pathway plod, — Some call it Consecration, And others call it God.

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