The Monthly Repository & Library of Entertaining Knowledge, Том 1

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F. S. Wiggins, 1831

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Страница 340 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Страница 237 - And the Lord said, I will destroy man, whom I have created, from the face of the earth ; both man and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them.
Страница 132 - All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.
Страница 320 - How manifold are thy works, O Lord ! In wisdom hast thou made them all...
Страница 8 - Day unto day uttereth speech: And night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language: Where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth: And their words to the end of the world.
Страница 236 - Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a garment: The waters stood above the mountains. At thy rebuke they fled ; At the voice of thy thunder they hasted away.
Страница 72 - Hearken, my beloved brethren, hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him?
Страница 168 - Who knoweth not in all these That the hand of the Lord hath wrought this? In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, And the breath of all mankind.
Страница 271 - Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past — All in one mighty sepulchre.
Страница 271 - Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks, That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man!

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