Catholic World, Том 86

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Paulist Fathers, 1908

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Страница 107 - Some heavenly music, which even now I do, To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book.
Страница 103 - All hail, great master! grave sir, hail ! I come To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task Ariel, and all his quality.
Страница 108 - I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace : What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool ! Pro.
Страница 806 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear • Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dear groans.
Страница 340 - But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest — if indeed I go — (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of...
Страница 627 - And human love needs human meriting: How hast thou merited — Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art ! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee, Save Me, save only Me? All which I took from thee I did but take, Not for thy harms, But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms. All which thy child's mistake Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home: Rise, clasp My hand, and come ! " Halts by me that footfall : Is my gloom,...
Страница 815 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these?
Страница 627 - Strange, piteous, futile thing, Wherefore should any set thee love apart? Seeing none but I makes much of naught" (He said), "And human love needs human meriting: How hast thou merited — Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee 170 Save Me, save only Me?
Страница 626 - Against the red throb of its sunset-heart I laid my own to beat, And share commingling heat; But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart. In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek.
Страница 106 - And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?

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