Irish Literature, Volume 1

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Justin McCarthy, Maurice Francis Egan, Charles Welsh, Douglas Hyde, Lady Gregory, James Jeffrey Roche
J. D. Morris, 1904 - Authors, Irish

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Page 73 - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Page 294 - We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; we are perplexed, but not in despair ; persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed; always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body. For we which live, are alway delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.
Page 21 - In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
Page 393 - I impeach him in the name of all the Commons of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, whose parliamentary trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain, whose national character he has dishonored.
Page 5 - He died that we might be forgiven, He died to make us good, That we might go at last to heaven, Saved by His precious blood. There was no other good enough To pay the price of sin, He only could unlock the gate Of heaven, and let us in.
Page 3 - And no man saw it e'er ; For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there.
Page 394 - ... and sanctifies a great character, will not suffer me to censure any part of his conduct. I am afraid to flatter him ; I am sure I am not disposed to blame him. Let those who have betrayed him by their adulation insult him with their malevolence. But what I do not presume to censure I may have leave to lament.
Page 88 - The Lord giveth, and the Lord ' taketh away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.
Page 4 - And had he not high honor? — The hillside for a pall; To lie in state while angels wait, With stars for tapers tall, And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes Over his bier to wave; And God's own hand, in that lonely land, To lay him in the grave; In that strange grave, without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again — oh, wondrous thought!
Page 374 - There was Burke, ignorant, indeed, or negligent of the art of adapting his reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste of his hearers, but in amplitude of comprehension and richness of imagination superior to every orator, ancient or modern.

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