The Works of Charles Kingsley, Volumen 1

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Chersterheld Society, 1899 - 339 páginas

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Página 194 - If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us; but if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Página 287 - And they said, Go to, let us build us a city, and a tower whose top may reach unto heaven, and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.
Página 323 - Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.
Página 295 - The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou nearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth ; so is every one that is born of the Spirit.
Página 232 - Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil.
Página 290 - King for ever and ever, and the heathen are perished out of the land. 19 LORD, thou hast heard the desire of the poor ; thou preparest their heart, and thine ear hearkeneth thereto : 20 To help the fatherless and poor unto their right, that the man of the earth be no more exalted against them.
Página 20 - Amaziah, I was no prophet, neither was I a prophet's son ; but I was an herdman, and a gatherer of sycamore fruit:* And the LORD took me as I followed the flock, and the LORD said unto me, Go, prophesy unto my people Israel.
Página 275 - We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, "There is no joy but calm!
Página 275 - THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Página 224 - ... the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched.

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