The Catholic University Bulletin, Volume 9

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Catholic University of America., 1903

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Page 335 - If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
Page 199 - On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object; can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt?
Page 334 - His happy home, the ground. To left and right, The cuckoo told his name to all the hills ; The mellow ouzel fluted in the elm ; The redcap whistled ; and the nightingale Sang loud, as tho
Page 193 - Ecstasy ! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music : it is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from.
Page 333 - Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height : What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, To sit a star upon the sparkling spire ; And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him ; by the happy threshold, he, Or hand in hand with...
Page 193 - I do repent : but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister.
Page 335 - More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
Page 340 - Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.
Page 337 - But these are all lies : men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Page 190 - A villain kills my father; and, for that, I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heaven.

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