The parsonage well, by J.B.L.

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Page 147 - Take up thy cross, and follow Christ, Nor think till death to lay it down; For only he who bears the cross May hope to wear the glorious crown.
Page 182 - there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance.
Page 167 - We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been and might have been, And who was changed and who was dead...
Page 28 - I could but mark ; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire.
Page 147 - Take up thy cross, nor heed the shame, Nor let thy foolish pride rebel: Thy Lord for thee the Cross endured, To save thy soul from death and hell. 4 Take up thy cross...
Page 125 - We are not worst at once— the course of evil Begins so slowly, and from such slight source, An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay; But let the stream get deeper. and philosophy — ' Ay, and religion too, — shall strive in vain To turn the headlong torrent.
Page 147 - Take up thy cross ; let not its weight Fill thy weak spirit with alarm ; His strength shall bear thy spirit up, And brace thy heart, and nerve thine arm. 3 Take up thy cross...
Page 87 - BETTER is a dry morsel, and quietness therewith, than a house full of sacrifices with strife.
Page 82 - While her image filled my soul. Farewell, days of purest pleasure, Long your loss my heart shall mourn! Farewell, hours of bliss the measure, Bliss that never can return. Cheerless o'er the wild heath wandering, Cheerless o'er the wave-worn shore, On the past with sadness pondering, Hope's fair visions charm no more.
Page 207 - Here, the great unrest of ages ; Here, the trouble, toil, and strife : There, the peaceful, quiet waters Of the crystal stream of life. Here, the sighing of the branches ; Here, the wave-beat on the shore : There, the ceaseless strain of angels Chanting praises evermore. Here, the rocks, and shoals, and quicksands ; Here, the white cross on the sod : There, the haven where she would be, In the bosom of her God.

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