Prose-poems and Selections from the Writings and Sayings of Robert G. IngersollC. P. Farrell, 1888 - 317 páginas |
Palavras e frases frequentes
abolitionists ABRAHAM LINCOLN altars Auguste Comte auto da fe babes beautiful believe beneath BENEDICT SPINOZA bible blasphemy blood brain brave breast chains child Christ Christian church clouds creed crime cruel dawn dead death dogmas dream dungeons dust earth Elizur Wright eternal eyes faith fathers fear filled flower forever genius give gods grave hands happy hated hear heart heaven hell honest thought hope human husband ignorance imagination infinite intellectual Jehovah justice king kiss knew labor liberty light lips lived mankind millions mind miracle moral mothers Nation nature never night Old Testament ORATION passion peace polygamy poor priests prison race reform religion revelation rippling river sacred slavery slaves smiles soldiers soul star superstition tears things Thomas Paine tion total depravity touched TRIBUTE Troilus and Cressida truth virtue Voltaire wife wives woman words worship
Passagens conhecidas
Página 112 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
Página 190 - Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Let his children be continually vagabonds, and beg; let them seek their bread also out of their desolate places.
Página 34 - We hear the sounds of preparation — the music of boisterous drums — the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see thousands of assemblages, and hear the appeals of orators. We see the pale cheeks of women, and the flushed faces of men ; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers.
Página 190 - Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them ; for I, the Lord, thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me, and showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me and keep my commandments.
Página 31 - Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead. The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower. And now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust. Speech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler, stronger, manlier man.
Página 183 - O weird musician, thy harp strung with Apollo's golden hair, fill the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until thy silver notes do touch and kiss the moonlit waves, and charm the lovers wondering 'mid vineclad hills. But know your sweetest strains are discords all, compared with childhood's happy laugh — the laugh that fills the eyes with light and every heart with joy.
Página 98 - ... marble, where rest at last the ashes of that restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I...
Página 29 - ... burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust. Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship.
Página 83 - The cure seemingly considered his person soiled, and his coif dishonored, by the touch of the philosopher. He made the nurse give him a little brushing, and went out with the Abbe Gautier.
Página 30 - Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry.