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Christ was never so joyful in all his life, that we read of, as when his sufferings grew near; then he takes the sacrament of his body and blood into his own hands, and with thanksgiving bestows it among his disciples; then he sings a hymn, then he rejoices, then he comes with a "Lo, I come." O the heart, the great heart that Jesus had for us to do us good!
What is a party?" she said. "We go to the rooms oh yes, and to the great receptions sometimes, and at hotels. Parties? I don't know what that means. Of course, I go with the Contessa to the rooms, and to the tables d'hôte. I give her my arm ever since I was tall enough. I carry her fan and her little things. When she sings I am always ready to play.
Gold on his shoulders and his belt, gold everywhere about him; as the sun shines in spring, when every bird twitters and sings in the orchard, so he shines, all gold. And his horse, which the Waiwode himself gave him, is the very best; that horse alone is worth two hundred ducats." Bulba was petrified. "Why has he put on foreign garments?" "He put them on because they were finer.
It may be thought that the acquaintance ripened in those fifteen minutes, which doubled into thirty. Elizabeth's step was slower, her voice more musical, even as a nightingale sings her sweetest to the moon.
It is movement that brings him his bottle, movement that regulates the stages of his bath, movement that dresses him comfortably, movement that sings to him and rocks him to sleep. In that complex of sensations, the nurse, the feature of importance to him, of immediate satisfaction or redemption from pain, is this movements come to succour him.
We hadn't much more'n got in our seats afore the door opened, and in walked Gaius Ellis, arm in arm with a man; and the man was the Honorable Stingy Gabe Atkinson Holway. "'Gentlemen, sings out Gaius, bubblin' over with joy, 'I propose three cheers for our founder, who has returned to us after his long absence. "We give the cheers that is, some of the folks did.
In the mean time the chorus of women sings the final triumph of the Cross over the crescent, and the fleeing away of the dark "powers of earth and air" before the advancing light of the "Star of Bethlehem:" A power from the unknown God, A Promethean conqueror came; Like a triumphal path he trod The thorns of death and shame.
"'Distance lends enchantment to the view, as Fanny's poet sings." "Only in little patches; and they are dull, and without interest, unless the sun happens to shine. But would you not like to live there if I was a merchant or lawyer; and had given a school, a church, and hospital to the town, and grand folks were flocking from all quarters to visit us?"
Have you never known what it is to be tired, my Lector? not tired at the end of a busy day, but tired in the morning, tired in the Memnonian sunlight, when larks and barrel-organs start on their blithe insistent rounds. No, the man who is tired of a morning sings not music-hall songs in his bedroom as he dashes about in his morning bath. But will you never want to go to bed, Lector?
For thee her wooing hour has passed, The singing birds have flown, And winter comes with icy blast To chill thy buds unblown. Yet, though the woods no longer thrill As once their arches rung, Sweet echoes hover round thee still Of songs thy summer sung. Live in thy past; await no more The rush of heaven-sent wings; Earth still has music left in store While Memory sighs and sings.
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