Margaret Smith's journal. Old portraits and modern sketches

Front Cover
Ticknor and Fields, 1866
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Page 109 - Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts. Let him drink and forget his poverty and remember his misery no more.
Page 403 - A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Page 292 - twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new; Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run, And, as it works, the industrious bee Computes its time as well as we ! How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers...
Page 291 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Page 85 - Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south ? Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high ? She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place.
Page 225 - I found myself a man compassed with infirmities ; the parting with my wife and poor children hath often been to me in this place as the pulling the flesh from the bones ; and also it brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh, the thoughts of the hardships I thought my poor blind one might go under would break my heart to pieces.
Page 389 - Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain...
Page 227 - This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss: The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.
Page 225 - Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me.
Page 212 - I am safe enough ; for if the bell should now fall, I can slip out behind these thick walls, and so be preserved notwithstanding. So after this I would yet go to see them ring, but would not go any farther than the steeple-door ; but then it came into my head, how if the steeple itself should fall...

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