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Page 261 - And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ?" The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord.
Page 261 - Nay, not so." Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, — And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!
Page 21 - you see how it is," and he gave a wink, and burst into what Launcelot could not but think a particularly illtimed laugh. " Well — but Spraggs," expostulated Transit, " Dicky, my friend, you have surely other funds that you could lay your finger upon to oblige me." " Not a doit," answered Spraggs, whose principal employment of money at all times was to spend — and not to lend ; and who had settled long ago, in his own mind, that Launcelot was never to touch a farthing of his — " I live at too...
Page 254 - For who knoweth what is good for man in this life, all the days of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow?
Page 134 - Of its tones among the leaves ? Oh ! is it from the waters, Or from the long, tall grass ? Or is it from the hollow rocks Through which its breathings pass ? Or is it from the voices Of all in one combined, That it wins the tone of mastery ? The Wind, the wandering Wind ! No, no ! the strange, sweet accents That with it come and go, They are not from the osiers, Nor the fir-trees...
Page 120 - there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven ; " a time to get and a time to lose,
Page 5 - Walstein thought that he had never beheld such lustrous locks of ebon hair shading a countenance of such dazzling purity. Her large and deep blue eyes gleamed through their long black lashes. The expression of her face was singularly joyous. Two wild dimples played like meteors on her soft round cheeks. A pink veil worn over her head was carelessly tied under her chin, and fastened with a white rose of pearls. Her vest and train of white satin did not conceal her sylphlike form and delicate feet....
Page 8 - He would suit you. He is melancholy too, but only by fits. Would you like to make his acquaintance ? " " Authors are best known by their writings," replied Walstein ; " I admire his, because, amid much wildness, he is a great reader of the human heart, and I find many echoes in his pages of what I dare only to think and to utter in solitude.
Page 8 - ... continued Madame de Schulembourg, with a smile. ' Do not think me heartless ; all his passion is imagination. Change of scene ever cures him ; he has written to me every week — his letters are each time more reasonable. I have no doubt he has by this time relieved his mind in some mad work which will amuse us all very much, and will return again to Dresden quite cool. I delight in Sidonia — he is my especial favourite.