A Treatise on Theism, and on the Modern Skeptical Theories

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Lippincott, 1859 - 395 страници

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Страница 194 - UNTO THEE. AND HE SAITH, MASTER, SAY ON. THERE WAS A CERTAIN CREDITOR WHICH HAD TWO DEBTORS : THE ONE OWED FIVE HUNDRED PENCE, AND THE OTHER FIFTY. AND WHEN THEY HAD NOTHING TO PAY, HE FRANKLY FORGAVE THEM BOTH. TELL ME THEREFORE, WHICH OF THEM WILL LOVE HIM MOST
Страница 240 - One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er— I'm nearer home to-day Than I ever have been before. Nearer my Father's house, Where the many mansions be; Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the jasper sea; Nearer the bound of life, Where we lay our burdens down ; Nearer leaving the cross, Nearer gaining the crown.
Страница 112 - THERE i WAS BY HIM, AS ONE BROUGHT UP WITH HIM : AND I WAS DAILY HIS DELIGHT, REJOICING ALWAYS BEFORE HIM ; REJOICING IN THE HABITABLE PART OF HIS EARTH; AND MY DELIGHTS WERE WITH THE SONS OF MEN.
Страница 340 - conquest. I therefore beg leave to move that, henceforth, prayers, imploring the, assistance of Heaven and its blessing on our deliberations, be held in this assembly every morning before we proceed to business; and that one or more of the clergy of this city be requested to officiate in that service.'
Страница 36 - K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.— He dies, and makes no sign. 0, God, forgive him ! War, So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
Страница 202 - lines,— When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest lie, returning, chide; " Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" I fondly ask : but patience, to prevent That murmur,
Страница 133 - affections raised to the highest pitch. He is not, indeed, to be discerned by any of our senses. I go forward, but He is not there; and backward, but I cannot
Страница 36 - K. Hen. How fares my lord ? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. K. lien. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
Страница 48 - The wounded from the battle plain In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors: Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room. We
Страница 85 - and the little handbasket, in which I used to deposit our day's fare of savory cold lamb and salad; and how you would pry about at noontide for some decent house where we might go in and produce our store, only paying for the ale that you must call for;

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