The Sea Lions; Or, The Lost Sealers

Stringer & Townsend, 1849

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Page 198 - Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Page 101 - And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom ye will serve ; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell : but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.
Page 64 - em to be, now, almost as useful as almanacs. Read what it says about the seasons, child." " It says, sir, that the changes in the seasons are owing to ' the inclination of the earth's axis to the plane of its orbit.
Page 102 - To prayer; — for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on ; Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows To shade the couch where his children repose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.
Page 33 - All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told J Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold : Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Page 210 - all work, and no play, makes Jack a dull boy...
Page 105 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Page 91 - WALK in the light ! so shalt thou know That fellowship of love, His Spirit only can bestow, Who reigns in light above. 2 Walk in the light...
Page 120 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Page 88 - Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. No other voice nor sound was there, No drum, nor sentry's pace ; The mist-like banners clasped the air, As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed...

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