Graham's American Monthly Magazine of Literature, Art, and Fashion, Volumes 22-23

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G. R. Graham, 1813
 

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1843, not 1813

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Page 186 - Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, They pass, and heed each other not. There is who heeds, who holds them all, In his large love and boundless thought. These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.
Page 222 - And Samuel said to Saul, why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up ? And Saul answered, I am sore distressed ; for the Philistines make war against me, and GOD is departed from me, and answereth me no more, neither by prophets nor by dreams : therefore I have called thee, that thou mayest make known unto me what I shall do.
Page 222 - Behold, thine handmaid hath obeyed thy voice, and I have put my life in my hand, and have hearkened unto thy words which thou spakest unto me.
Page 286 - Look not mournfully into the past: it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present: it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and with a manly heart.
Page 246 - And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you.
Page 30 - But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued.
Page 288 - Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precepts less The sum of human wretchedness, And strengthen Man with his own mind...
Page 286 - Alas ! it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life, to light the fires of passion with, from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number, and to remember...
Page 288 - I have preserved even the measure ; that inexorable hexameter, in which, it must be confessed, the motions of the English Muse are not unlike those of a prisoner dancing to the music of his chains ; and perhaps, as Dr. Johnson said of the dancirtg dog, " the wonder is not that she should do it so well, but that she should do it at all.
Page 41 - ... recesses of swamps and morasses, rather than bow his haughty spirit to submission, and live dependent and despised in the ease and luxury of the settlements. With heroic qualities and bold achievements that would have graced a civilized warrior, and have rendered him the theme of the poet and the historian; he lived a wanderer and a fugitive in his native land, and went down, like a lonely bark foundering amid darkness and tempest— without a pitying eye to weep his fall, or a friendly hand...

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