The National Review, Volume 15

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Richard Holt Hutton, Walter Bagehot
Robert Theobald, 1862
 

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Page 36 - I said, I shall not see the LORD, even the LORD, in the land of the living : I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the world.
Page 95 - Wherefore if it be His pleasure through whom is the life of all things, that my life continue with me a few years, it is my hope that I shall yet write concerning her what hath not before been written of any woman.
Page 35 - LET the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, " There is a man child conceived.
Page 200 - War. Third Edition, Enlarged. Fcap. 8vo, 4?. Plutarch ; his Life, his Lives, and his Morals. Second Edition, Enlarged. Fcap. 8vo, 3*. 6d. Remains of the late Mrs. Richard Trench. Being Selections from her Journals, Letters, and other Papers. New and Cheaper Issue. With Portrait. 8vo, 6s.
Page 35 - Cursed be the day wherein I was born: Let not the day wherein my mother bare me be blessed. Cursed be the man who brought tidings to my father, saying, A man child is born unto thee; Making him very glad.
Page 36 - The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: thine eyes are upon me, and I am not.
Page 44 - And Joshua said unto all the people, Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, Your fathers dwelt on the other side of the flood in old time, even Terah, the father of Abraham, and the father of Nachor : and they served other gods.
Page 93 - Then saw I many broken hinted sights In the uncertain state I stepp'd into. Meseem'd to be I know not in what place, Where ladies through the street, like mournful lights, Ran with loose hair, and eyes that frighten'd you By their own terror, and a pale amaze: The while, little by little, as I thought, The sun ceased, and the stars began to gather, And each wept at the other; And birds...
Page 59 - Lo, thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word : Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all.
Page 132 - Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; Look up, and let me see our doom in it; Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, 100 Naked and bare of its great diadem, Peers like the front of Saturn.

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