The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge: With an Introductory Essay Upon His Philosophical and Theological Opinions, Volumen6

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Harper & brothers, 1858
 

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Página 164 - Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered...
Página 476 - HEAR, O heavens, and give ear, O earth: For the Lord hath spoken, I have nourished and brought up children, And they have rebelled against me. The ox knoweth his owner, And the ass his master's crib: But Israel doth not know, My people doth not consider.
Página 505 - Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry " Hold, hold !
Página 117 - But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began; The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.
Página 170 - For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work iniquity, to practise hypocrisy, and to utter error against the Lord, to make empty the soul of the hungry, and he will cause the drink of the thirsty to fail.
Página 164 - For they have healed the hurt of the daughter of my people slightly, saying, "Peace, peace!
Página 342 - that is only because it has not yet come to its age of discretion and choice. The weeds, you see, have taken the liberty to grow, and I thought it unfair in me to prejudice the soil towards roses and strawberries.
Página 320 - And the high priest arose, and said unto him, Answerest thou nothing? What is it which these witness against thee? But Jesus held his peace. And the high priest answered and said unto him, I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God.
Página 313 - And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live ? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.
Página 407 - But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee, (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and play-mate of the waves!

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