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Look at your feet, look around; the waving weed, the broken column Time's witness, and the Earthquake's. In that contrast between grandeur and decay, in the unutterable and awful solemnity that, while rife with the records of past ages, is sad also with their ravage, you have felt the nature of eternity!
The ordinarily calm Thornton gave a great suspiration and his face was livid. "Aeta's just crossed we're five minutes out! Evarts, am I crazy? Am I talking straight?" Evarts laid his hand on the other's arm. "The earthquake's knocked out your transit," he suggested. "And Paris how about Paris?" asked Thornton. He wrote something down on a card mechanically and started for the door.
Such another destruction of mantel ornaments and toilet bottles as the earthquake created, San Francisco never saw before. There was hardly a girl or a matron in the city but suffered losses of this kind. Suspended pictures were thrown down, but oftener still, by a curious freak of the earthquake's humor, they were whirled completely around with their faces to the wall!
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, Have left untouched her hoary rock, The key-stone of a land which still, Though fallen, looks proudly on that hill, The landmark to the double tide That purpling rolls on either side, As if their waters chafed to meet, Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
Paul and Silas, in their prison, Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen, And an earthquake's arm of might Broke their dungeon gates at night. But, alas, what holy angel Brings the slave this glad evangel And what earthquake's arm of might. Breaks his prison gags at night. Said I: "Now, isn't that fine, Berkstresser?"
Paul and Silas, in their prison, Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen, And an earthquake's arm of might Broke their dungeon gates at night. But, alas, what holy angel Brings the slave this glad evangel And what earthquake's arm of might. Breaks his prison gags at night. Said I: "Now, isn't that fine, Berkstresser?"
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black, and now, the glee of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth" When George III. died, Southey wrote a poem filled with absurd flattery of that monarch.
Such another destruction of mantel ornaments and toilet bottles as the earthquake created, San Francisco never saw before. There was hardly a girl or a matron in the city but suffered losses of this kind. Suspended pictures were thrown down, but oftener still, by a curious freak of the earthquake's humor, they were whirled completely around with their faces to the wall!
"Skirting the shore northwest from the big ferry building which was so seriously injured that it will have to be rebuilt the first thing observed was the extraordinary irregularity of the earthquake's course. Pier No. 5, for instance, is nothing but a mass of ruins, while Pier No. 3, on one side of it and Pier No. 7, on the other side, similar in size and construction, are undamaged.
Thou wer't not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy far and fierce delight, A portion of the tempest and of me! How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comet dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black, and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young; earthquake's birth,
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