THE DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL

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Page 24 - Who knoweth not in all these That the hand of the Lord hath wrought this? In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, And the breath of all mankind.
Page 157 - Nothing, then, was to be heard but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the cries of men ; some calling for their children, others for their parents, others for their husbands, and only distinguishing each other by their voices ; one lamenting his own fate, another that of his family ; some wishing to die, from the very fear of dying ; some lifting their hands to the gods ; but the greater part imagining that the last and eternal night was come, \vhich was to destroy both the gods *...
Page 346 - Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides; Who can recount what transmigrations there Are annual made ? what nations come and go ? And how the living clouds on clouds arise? Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air And rude resounding shore are one wild cry.
Page 227 - Thou art gone to the grave ; we no longer behold thee. Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side ; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Saviour hath died.
Page 122 - Empire with one another, and with foreign philosophers, — to obtain a more general attention to the objects of science, and a removal of any disadvantages of a public kind which impede its progress.
Page 286 - Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might — the majesty of Loveliness...
Page 124 - There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet, As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet...
Page 126 - OH ! haste and leave this sacred isle, " Unholy bark, ere morning smile ; " For on thy deck, though dark it be, " A female form I see ; " And I have sworn this sainted sod " Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod.
Page 9 - The love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to herself; but when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of her peace.
Page 157 - Being got at a convenient distance from the houses, we stood still, in the midst of a most dangerous and dreadful scene. The chariots which we had ordered to be drawn out, were so agitated backwards and forwards, though upon the most level ground, that we could not keep them steady, even by supporting them with large stones. The sea seemed to roll back upon itself, and to be driven from its banks by the convulsive motion of the earth ; it is certain at least the shore was considerably enlarged, and...

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