Diary of mrs. Kitty Trevylyan, by the author of 'Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta family'.

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Page 137 - Thee will I love, my Joy, my Crown, Thee will I love, my Lord, my God ; Thee will I love, beneath thy frown, Or smile, thy sceptre, or thy rod ; What though my flesh and heart decay ; Thee shall I love in endless day ! 55.
Page 103 - And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away, and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God, and the books were opened ; and another book was opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works.
Page 121 - Yield to me now, for I am weak, But confident in self-despair; Speak to my heart, in blessings speak, Be conquered by my instant prayer! Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move, And tell me, if Thy name is Love?
Page 103 - And in that day thou shalt say, O Lord, I will praise thee : though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortedst me. Behold, God is my salvation ; I will trust, and not be afraid ; for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song ; he also is become my salvation.
Page 45 - Jesus took once a little child and set him in the midst of the people, and said, "except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven...
Page 121 - tis Love! Thou diedst for me, I hear thy whisper in my heart. The morning breaks, the shadows flee: . Pure Universal Love thou art; To me, to all, thy bowels move, Thy nature and thy name is Love.
Page 154 - MY joy, my life, my crown ! My heart was meaning all the day, Somewhat it fain would say : And still it runneth muttering up and down With only this, My joy, my life, my crown ! Yet slight not these few words ; If truly said, they may take part Among the best in art.
Page 38 - My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride. WHEN I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died...
Page 153 - Thou art a day of mirth ; And where the week-days trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth : O let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven, Till that we both, being tossed from earth, Fly hand in hand to heaven ! AVARICE.
Page 38 - Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ, my God ; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.

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