Ella Lincoln: Or, Western Prairie Life, an Autobiography

Front Cover
J. French, 1857 - 353 pages

From inside the book

Selected pages

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 236 - Lo, these are parts of his ways: but how little a portion is heard of him? but the thunder of his power who can understand?
Page 41 - Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, Which he hath sent propitious, some great good Presaging, since, with sorrow and heart's distress Wearied, I fell asleep: but now lead on; In me is no delay; with thee to go Is to stay here; without thee here to stay Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under heaven, all places thou, Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. This further consolation yet secure I carry hence; though all...
Page 154 - Her lot is on you !— silent tears to weep, And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches, from affection's deep, To pour on broken reeds— a wasted shower ! And to make idols, and to find them clay, And to bewail that worship — therefore pray!
Page 32 - Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind...
Page 268 - Inasmuch as ye did it not unto one of the least of these, ye did it not to me And these shall go away into everlasting punishment: but the righteous into life eternal.
Page 106 - He was a man Who stole the livery of the court of heaven, To serve the devil in...
Page 156 - THERE'S not a look, a word of thine My soul hath e'er forgot ; Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, Nor given thy locks one graceful twine, Which I remember not...
Page 31 - I've mingled with rapturous zest; For how slight is the touch that will...
Page 357 - He that writes, Or makes a feast, more certainly invites His judges than his friends : there's not a guest But will find something wanting or ill-drest.
Page 66 - Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest: welcome at an inn.

Bibliographic information