United States or British Virgin Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"I like a little; all the rest Is somewhere; and our Lord knows best How the whole robe hath grace for them Who only touch the garment's hem." At the bottom, in small capitals, was the signature, BEL BREE. "I don't understand," said Bel, bewildered. "What is it? Who did it?" "It is a proof," said Mrs. Scherman. "A proof-sheet. And here is another kind of proof that came with it.
From the hilltop looking down she could see the way they had gone; the crooked gulch, a garment's crease in the great lap of the table-land, sinking to the river. She saw no one, heard no sound but the senseless hurry and bluster of the winds, coming from no one knew where, going none cared whither. It blew a gale in the bright sunlight, mocking her efforts to listen.
It may be a wasted and tremulous hand, like that which this woman laid lightly on His robe. But He feels its touch, though a universe presses on Him, and He answers. Not the garment's hem, but Christ's love, is the cause of our salvation. Not an outward contact with it or with Him, but faith, is the condition on which His life, which knows no disease, pours into our souls.
Thy garment's like thy locks and like * My lot, three blacks on black on black." Seeing this state of things and understanding the case of Abu Nowas and his love-longing, the Chamberlain returned to the Caliph and acquainted him therewith; so he bade him pouch a thousand dirhams and go and take him out of pawn.
In the first place, a genuine, living faith has Christ for its object. The hand may tremble, but it touches His garment's hem; the eye may be dimmed by doubt, but it is directed toward His face; the feet may stumble, but as the fainting pilgrim staggers onward, this is his repeated cry, "Thou, O Christ, art all I want." In the second place, a true faith works.
Was it the lifting of a strand of hair, the wave of a white hand, the flutter of a garment's edge? He could not tell, but it did not belong to any of those sights which he had seen so often in that place. It was neither the glancing of a moth's wing, the nodding of a wind-touched blossom, nor the noiseless flitting of a bat.
"How good it is, O see, And how it pleaseth well, Together, e'en in unity, For brethren so to dwell. It's like the choice ointment, From the head to the beard did go: Down Aaron's beard, that downward went, His garment's skirts unto."
It's like the choice ointment, From the head to the beard did go; Down Aaron's head, that downward went His garment's skirts unto."
When Abe entered his showroom that morning Morris Perlmutter had just arranged a high-neck evening gown on a wire model. "Well, Abe, what d'ye think of it?" he exclaimed proudly, as he wiped his glistening brow. Abe fingered the garment's silken folds and puffed critically at a black cigar. "What could I think, Mawruss?" he replied.
One of my favorite poems is: "'Thou art a mountain stately and serene, Rising majestic o'er each earthly thing, And I a lake that 'round thy feet do cling, Kissing thy garment's hem, unknown, unseen. I tremble when the tempests darkly screen Thy face from mine. I smile when sunbeams fling Their bright arms 'round thee. When the blue heavens lean Upon thy breast, I thrill with bliss, O king!
Word Of The Day