History of the Town of Carlisle, Massachusets, 1754-1920: With Biographical Sketches of Prominent Persons

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Murray printing Company, 1920 - Всего страниц: 365
 

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Стр. 187 - For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that he might be Lord both of the dead and living.
Стр. 178 - For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself. For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord's.
Стр. 182 - Christ, who, though he was rich, yet for our " sakes became poor, that we, through his poverty,
Стр. 113 - I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under every variety of circumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield against its ills, however things might go amiss and the world frown upon me, it would be a taste for reading.
Стр. 270 - As you are now so once was I; As I am now, so you must be Prepare for death and follow me.
Стр. 181 - And this is the confidence that we have in Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, He heareth us. And if we know that He hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of Him.
Стр. 236 - Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come...
Стр. 235 - That, viewing it, we seem almost to obtain Our innocent sweet simple years again. This fond attachment to the well-known place, Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.
Стр. 269 - My flesh shall slumber in the ground, Till the last trumpet's joyful sound ; Then burst the chains with sweet surprise, And in my Saviour's image rise.
Стр. 235 - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And...

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