Passion Week

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Bell and Daldy, 1857 - 169 страници
 

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Страница 63 - See, from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown ? 4. Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small ; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Страница 163 - That reaching home, the night, they said, is near, We must not now be parted, sojourn here — The new acquaintance soon became a guest, And made so welcome at their simple feast, He...
Страница 21 - Lo, I come:" in the volume of the book it is written of me, "I delight to do thy will, O my God." Yea, thy law is within my heart: I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: lo, I have not refrained my lips, O Lord, thou knowest.
Страница 162 - Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore, The farther traced enrich'd them still the more ; They thought him, and they justly thought him, one Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done, To exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wonder'd he should die.
Страница 94 - Lampe of Light ! Most lively image of thy Father's face, Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might, Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight, How can we Thee requite for all this good? Or what can prize that Thy most precious blood...
Страница 96 - Commanded us to love them for His sake, Even for His sake, and for His sacred word, Which in His last bequest He to us spake, We should them love, and with their needs partake; Knowing that, whatsoe'er to them we give, We give to Him by whom we all doe live.
Страница 75 - BOUND upon th' accursed tree, Faint and bleeding, who is He ? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood and writhing limb, By the flesh with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side so deeply pierced, By the baffled burning thirst, By the drooping death-dew'd brow, Son of Man ! 'tis Thou ! 'tis Thou!
Страница 20 - Ride on ! ride on in majesty ! In lowly pomp ride on to die ! Bow Thy meek Head to mortal pain ! Then take, O God ! Thy power, and reign ! Henry Hart Milman.
Страница 94 - What hart can feele least touch of so sore launch, Or thought can think the depth of so deare wound ? Whose bleeding sourse their streames yet never...
Страница 96 - Be dark, thou sun — thou noonday night, arise, And hide, oh hide, the dreadful sacrifice ! Ye faithful few, by bold affection led, Who round the Saviour's cross your sorrows shed. Not for his sake your tearful vigils keep ; — Weep for your country, for your children weep ! — Vengeance ! thy fiery wing their race pursu'd ; Thy thirsty poniard blush'd with infant blood.

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