The Reformed Church Review

Voorkant
Publication Board of the Reformed Church, 1909
 

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Pagina 445 - The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride : His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; And " Let us worship God !
Pagina 490 - Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man, he knows not why, He thinks he was not made to die; And thou hast made him: thou art just.
Pagina 87 - O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
Pagina 419 - For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having- not the law, are a law unto themselves : which show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing or else excusing one another ;) in the day when God shall judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel.
Pagina 444 - For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp — The man's the gowd for a
Pagina 115 - For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book : and if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.
Pagina 491 - Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, thou: Our wills are ours, we know not how; Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Pagina 453 - BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate* to seek, owre proud to snool,* Let him draw near ; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career Wild as the...
Pagina 82 - But I am very sorry, good Horatio, That to Laertes I forgot myself; For, by the image of my cause, I see The portraiture of his: I'll court his favours: But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me Into a towering passion.
Pagina 86 - No! Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage...

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