Balmerino and Its Abbey: A Parochial History

Voorkant
W. Paterson, 1867 - 433 pagina's
 

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Pagina 37 - The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Pagina 88 - Our gude ship sails the morn." " Now ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm ! " I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm.
Pagina 88 - O where will I get a gude sailor, To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast, To see if I can spy land?' 'O here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast, But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.
Pagina 87 - They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may ; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say, — 'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's goud, And a
Pagina 190 - God for this effect, we promise and swear by the GREAT NAME OF THE LORD OUR GOD, to continue in the profession and obedience of the...
Pagina 39 - ... monks, the light of liberty, and literature, and science, had been for ever extinguished ; and that, for six centuries, there existed for the thoughtful, the gentle, the inquiring, the devout spirit, no peace, no security, no home but the cloister. There, Learning trimmed her lamp ; there, Contemplation " pruned her wings ; " there the traditions of Art, preserved from age to age by lonely, studious men, kept alive, in form and colour, the idea of a beauty beyond that of earth, — of a might...
Pagina 283 - Let hist'ry tell, where rival kings command, And dubious title shakes the madded land, When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How much more safe the vassal than the lord; Low sculks the hind beneath the rage of power, And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower, Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, Though Confiscation's vultures hover round.
Pagina 3 - The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
Pagina 86 - O whare will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship of mine?' O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the King's right knee, 'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea.
Pagina 221 - In gentle stream; then rose the song, the loud Acclaim of praise. The wheeling plover ceased Her plaint; The solitary place was glad, And on the distant cairns the watcher's ear Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.

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