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The orthodox, historical consensus of biblical interpretation.
Key question: “What is the most widely accepted and historically grounded understanding of this text?”
25,889 sermon illustrations through the Traditional lens
O might those sighs and tears return again Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, That I might in this holy discontent Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain; In mine Idolatry what showers of rain Mine eyes did waste!
He waits all day beside his little flock And asks the passing stranger what's o'clock, But those who often pass his daily tasks Look at their watch and tell before he asks.
MADDALO, A COURTIER. MALPIGLIO, A POET. PIGNA, A MINISTER. ALBANO, AN USHER. MADDALO: No access to the Duke! You have not said That the Count Maddalo would speak with him? PIGNA: Did you inform his Grace that Signor Pigna Waits...
I. I DREAMED of forest alleys fair And fields of gray-flowered grass, Where by the yellow summer moon My Jenny seemed to pass. I dreamed...
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open...
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden, all the summer through And winter, and it seemed as if they grew In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 'Which make thee terrible and dear,-- Swift be thy flight! Wrap...
Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies, A mortal foe and enemy to rest, An envious boy, from whom all cares arise, A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed, A way of error, a temple full of treason, In all effects contrary unto reason.
Gracious Lord, our children see, By Thy mercy we are free; But shall these, alas! remain Subjects still of Satan's reign?
As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care Drags from the town to wholesome country air, Just when she learns to roll a melting eye, And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh; From the dear man unwilling she...
Peggy said good morning and I said good bye, When farmers dib the corn and laddies sow the rye. Young Peggy's face was common sense...
Dares the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind, The lion to rouse from his skull-covered lair? When the tiger approaches can the fast-fleeting hind Repose trust in his footsteps of air?
IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS.
TO hook the Reader, you, John Murray, Have published "Anjou's Margaret," Which won't be sold off in a hurry (At least, it has not been as yet); And then, still further to bewilder him, Without remorse, you set up "Ilderim;"...
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows;-- The happy days unclouded to their close; The sudden joys that out of...
Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame Hath fixed high Caledon's unconquered name; The mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain, And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane, Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand No foe could tame--no tyrant could command?
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her?
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still...
WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv’d with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a...
What is he buzzing in my ears? "Now that I come to die, Do I view the world as a vale of tears?" Ah, reverend sir, not I!
Little Lamb, who made thee Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?
Summer fading, winter comes-- Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books.
Infant' graves are steps of angels, where Earth's brightest gems of innocence repose. God is their parent, and they need no tear; He takes them to His bosom from earth's woes, A bud their lifetime and a flower their close.
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago -- And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below...