The Knickerbocker: Or, New-York Monthly Magazine, Volume 17

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Charles Fenno Hoffman, Lewis Gaylord Clark, Timothy Flint, Kinahan Cornwallis, John Holmes Agnew
 

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Page 96 - BLOW ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain: Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble : For the day of the Lord cometh, for it is nigh at hand; A day of darkness and of gloominess, A day of clouds and of thick darkness...
Page 370 - WHO can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar.
Page 368 - And while he yet spake, lo, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people. Now he that betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he: hold him fast. And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said. Hail, master; and kissed him.
Page 172 - Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he For number or proportion.
Page 463 - Let the great soul incarnated in some woman's form, poor and sad and single, in some Dolly or Joan, go out to service and sweep chambers and scour floors, and its effulgent daybeams cannot be muffled or hid, but to sweep and scour will instantly appeal supreme and beautiful actions, the top and radiance of human life, and all people will get mops and brooms; until, lo!
Page 145 - home,' 'or, with yourself; and though there are very few that do this, yet it is surprising that the greatest part of mankind cannot be prevailed upon, at least to visit themselves sometimes ; but, according to the saying of the wise Solomon, The eyes of the fool are in the ends of the earth.
Page 172 - Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate A tapering turret overtops the work. And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow.
Page 54 - Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward.
Page 54 - As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden.
Page 53 - She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?

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