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Page 304 - I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill ; but time and chance happeneth to them all.
Page 113 - Master of human destinies am I ; Fame, Love and Fortune on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate; If sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And...
Page 243 - O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone, And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!
Page 115 - Wail not for precious chances passed away, Weep not for golden ages on the wane; Each night I burn the records of the day, At sunrise every soul is born again. Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb: My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep, I lend my arm to all who say, "I can.
Page 113 - MASTER of human destinies am I! Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace— soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate! If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain and...
Page 115 - They do me wrong who say I come no more When once I knock and fail to find you in; For every day I stand outside your door And bid you wake and rise to fight and win. Wail not for precious chances passed away! Weep not for golden ages on the wane! Each night I burn the records of the day; At sunrise every soul is born again. Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped; To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come....
Page 115 - No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep But yet may rise and be again a man. Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? Then turn from blotted archives of the past And find the future's pages white as snow. Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell! Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven. Each morning gives thee wings to fly from hell ; Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.
Page 358 - That the maintenance inviolate of the rights of the States, and especially the right of each State to order and control its own domestic institutions, according to its own judgment exclusively, is ««ential to that balance of power upon which the perfection and endurance of our political fabric depends.
Page 183 - You might as well kill a man as scare him to death. Why this stealthy footpad tread and fearsome touch? "