The Overland MonthlySamuel Carson, 1889 |
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American Apache asked BAKING POWDER beautiful blockhouse Bodley California called Callustro charity Chiricahuas Colonel color dark door eyes face father fire followed Francisco by Samuel G. P. Putnam's Sons gaze girl gold Gurrell hand heart Hebrew horse Indians interest Jack knew labor lady land less light living look Lower Cascades Marse ment Mexico miles mind morning mountains nature never night Nueva Granada olive olive oil once OVERLAND MONTHLY Pacific passed Patience Paul perhaps poet poetry poor race railroad reached river road rock Roselyn sale in San Samuel Carson San Francisco seemed seen Sevruga Shalto side soon South spirit stood story strange tain tell things thought tion told took tree turned Ulupalakua Upper Cascades Venezuela voice words young
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Страница 112 - In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book, or goes to an American play, or looks at an American picture or statue...
Страница 591 - Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.
Страница 251 - All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
Страница 131 - I find this conclusion more impressed upon me, — that the greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something, and tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion, — all in one.
Страница 295 - Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
Страница 82 - Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!
Страница 109 - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
Страница 138 - Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?' Second Voice 'Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast— If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.
Страница 552 - This I know not how to express otherwise, than by a calm, sweet abstraction of soul from all the concerns of this world; and sometimes a kind of vision, or fixed ideas and imaginations, of being alone in the mountains, or some solitary wilderness, far from all mankind, sweetly conversing with Christ, and rapt and swallowed up in God.
Страница 138 - The point of one white star is quivering still Deep in the orange light of widening morn Beyond the purple mountains : through a chasm Of wind-divided mist the darker lake Reflects it : now it wanes : it gleams again As the waves fade, and as the burning threads Of woven cloud unravel in pale air : Tis lost ! and through yon peaks of cloud-like snow The roseate sunlight quivers...