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الصفحة 121 - For as the rain cometh down, And the snow from heaven, And returneth not thither, But watereth the earth, And maketh it bring forth and bud, That it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: It shall not return unto me void, But it shall accomplish that which I please, And it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.
الصفحة 136 - What is that, Mother ? The eagle, boy. Proudly careering his course of joy, Firm in his own mountain vigour relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying ; His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, Onward and upward, true to the line.
الصفحة 136 - WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER ? WHAT is that, Mother ? The lark, my child ! The morn has but just looked out, and smiled ; When he starts, from his humble, grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out, in his Maker's ear : Ever my child, be thy morn's first lays, Tuned,' like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. What is that, Mother...
الصفحة 136 - What is that, mother ? The dove, my son ! And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure, by that lonely nest, As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, For her distant dear one's quick return. Ever, my son, be thou like the dove — In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. What is that, mother...
الصفحة 121 - My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the dew, as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass : Because I will publish the name of the Lord: ascribe ye greatness unto our God.
الصفحة 30 - Consider the lilies how they grow; they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
الصفحة 16 - I hear it in each breath of wind : The hills that have for ages stood. And clouds with gold and silver lined, All still repeat that God is good.
الصفحة 139 - My healthy arm shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My Mother. And when I see thee hang thy head, 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed, My Mother. For God Who lives above the skies, Would look with vengeance in His eyes, If I should ever dare despise My Mother.