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" but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, 'A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go. ' Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath : I know no more. "
Eclectic Magazine, and Monthly Edition of the Living Age - Page 276
1861
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The General Baptist repository, and Missionary observer [afterw.] The ...

1877 - 506 pages
...of range, costliness of apparatus, and splendour of achievement, augur for him a limitless future. And he, shall he ? " Man, her last work, who seemed...Such splendid purpose in his eyes ; Who rolled the psalms to wintry skies ; Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed,...
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The Living Age, Volume 199

1893 - 840 pages
...are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. " Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath...no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built...
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Littell's Living Age, Volume 112

American periodicals - 1872 - 858 pages
...and ghosts as fluttering about like birds or fairies, The poet of the nineteenth century says ; — " The spirit does but mean the breath, I know no more." And the same thought was expressed by Cicero two thousand years ago : '• Whether the soul is air or fire,...
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In Memoriam, Issue 1

Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson - Grief - 1850 - 228 pages
...types are gone I care for nothing, all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath...no more.' And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built...
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In Memoriam

Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson - 1850 - 236 pages
...types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath...no more.' And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built...
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The Princess: A Medley

Alfred Tennyson Baron Tennyson - 1851 - 1851 - 422 pages
...types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death : The spirit does but mean the breath...no more.' And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fan-, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built...
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The Testimony of the Rocks, Or, Geology in Its Bearings on the Two ...

Hugh Miller - Bible and geology - 1857 - 524 pages
...types are gone; I care for nothing; all shall go: Thou makest thine appeal to me ; I bring to life, I bring to death; The spirit does but mean the breath....in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies And built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed, And love creation's final...
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The Canadian Journal of Industry, Science and Art, Volume 2

Art - 1857 - 520 pages
...are gone.' I oare for nothing ; all shall go : Thou makest thine appeal to me : I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath...in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies, And built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed, And love creation's final...
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The Testimony of the Rocks: Or, Geology in Its Bearings on the Two ...

Hugh Miller - Bible and geology - 1857 - 540 pages
...types are gone; I care for nothing ; all shall go : Thou makest thine appeal to me; I bring to life, I bring to death ; The spirit does but mean the breath....in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies And built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed, And love creation's final...
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The Williams Quarterly, Volumes 4-5

Universities and colleges - 1857 - 818 pages
...forever down the ringing grooves of change." Or he sadly asks, yet answers in the triumph of Faith, " And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seemed so...purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skiei, Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed, And love Creation's...
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