John Milton: A Biography

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Cockshaw, 1851 - 251 pagina's
 

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Pagina 111 - The end, then, of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith makes up the highest perfection.
Pagina 219 - But ye shall not be so : but he that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger ; and he that is chief, as he that doth serve.
Pagina 12 - The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
Pagina 119 - He that can apprehend and consider vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true wayfaring Christian.
Pagina 113 - I shall detain you no longer in the demonstration of what we should not do, but straight conduct ye to a hillside, where I will point ye out the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious sounds on every side, that the Harp of Orpheus was not more charming.
Pagina 26 - So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Pagina 236 - To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own ; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
Pagina 129 - God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath.
Pagina 159 - When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills and they To heaven.
Pagina 211 - If we have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing if we shall reap your carnal things?

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