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Seite 222 - But the father said to his servants ; Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it ; and let us eat and be merry ; For this my son was dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, and is found.
Seite 259 - While he yet spake, there cometh one from the ruler of the synagogue's house, saying to him, Thy daughter is dead; trouble not the Master. 50 But when Jesus heard it, he answered him, saying, Fear not: believe only, and she shall be made whole.
Seite 221 - And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
Seite 259 - And when he came into the house, he suffered no man to go in, save Peter, and James, and John, and the father and the mother of the maiden.
Seite 257 - PEACE be to this house, and to all that dwell in it. IT When he cometh into the sick man's presence, he shall say, kneeling down, REMEMBER not, LORD, our iniquities, nor the iniquities of our forefathers ; Spare us, good LORD, spare thy people, whom thou hast redeemed with thy most precious blood ; and be not angry with us for ever.
Seite 239 - No reply was made, and I thrust open the door. Heavens ! can I describe what I saw ! Within less than a yard of me stood the most frightful figure my eyes have ever beheld.
Seite 19 - I see them lost! Some the prevailing malice of the Great (Unhappy men!), or adverse fate, Sunk deep into the gulfs of an afflicted state: But more, far more! a numberless prodigious Train, Whilst Virtue courts them (but, alas, in vain!), Fly from her kind embracing arms, Deaf to her fondest call! blind to her greatest charms! And sunk in pleasures and in brutish ease, They, in their shipwrecked state, themselves obdurate please.
Seite 19 - On rocks of Folly; and of Vice, I see them lost! Some the prevailing malice of the Great (Unhappy men!), or adverse fate, Sunk deep into the gulfs of an afflicted state: But more, far more! a numberless prodigious Train, Whilst Virtue courts them (but, alas, in vain!), Fly from her kind embracing arms, Deaf to her fondest call!
Seite 19 - Hero may I always on this downy grass, Unknown, unseen, my easy moments pass, Till with a gentle force, victorious Death My solitude invade, And, stopping for a while my breath, With ease convey me to a better shade.* " There's for you, my lady! Well sung, my Lord Roscommon! Beautiful as true...