Mrs. Ben Darby: Or The Weal and Woe of Social Life

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Moore, Anderson, Wilstach & Keys, 1853 - 367 pages
 

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Page 182 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
Page 44 - Where glistening streamers waved and danced, The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue ; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream.
Page 306 - A faith that shines more bright and clear When tempests rage without ; That when in danger knows no fear, In darkness feels no doubt.
Page 252 - Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright: at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
Page 314 - When he made a decree for the rain, And a way for the lightning of the thunder : Then did he see it, and declare it ; He prepared it, yea, and searched it out. And unto man he said, Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom ; And to depart from evil is understanding.
Page 51 - It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie ; She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! We are na fou, &c.
Page 347 - Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Page 245 - The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation ; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
Page 297 - ON Jordan's stormy banks I stand, And cast a wishful eye To Canaan's fair and happy land, Where my possessions lie. 2 Oh the transporting, rapturous scene That rises to my sight ! Sweet fields arrayed in living green, And rivers of delight.
Page 56 - Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.

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