The Works of Henry Van Dyke, Volume 16

Front Cover
C. Scribner's Sons, 1921

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Page 50 - Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you. Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are motheaten. Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire.
Page 63 - For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass : for he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.
Page 284 - Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be ? — It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought...
Page 46 - If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?
Page 211 - ... what shall we eat, and what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed?
Page 207 - A felo de se therefore is he that deliberately puts an end to his own existence, or commits any unlawful malicious act, the consequence of which is his own death : as, if attempting to kill another, he runs upon his antagonist's sword; or shooting at another, the gun bursts and kills himself. The party must be of years of discretion, and in his senses, else it is no crime.
Page 282 - That, when we shall have served thee in our generation, we may be gathered unto our fathers, having the testimony of a good conscience ; in the communion of the catholic Church ; in the confidence of a certain faith ; in the comfort of a reasonable, religious, and holy hope ; in favour with thee our God, and in perfect charity with the world.
Page 50 - Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure together for the last days.
Page 228 - FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying.
Page 15 - Ah, but the way is so long! Years they have been in the wild! Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks, Rising all round, overawe; Factions divide them, their host Threatens to break, to dissolve.

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