British ferns and mosses

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Page 105 - The trees of the Lord are full of sap ; the cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted; where the birds make their nests: as for the stork, the fir trees are her house. The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats; and the rocks for the conies.
Page 6 - Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep : so shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man.
Page 87 - Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Page 61 - Some on the lower boughs which crost their way, Fixing their bearded fibres, round and round, With many a ring and wild contortion wound; Some to the passing wind at times, with sway Of gentle motion swung; Others of younger growth, unmoved, were hung Like stone-drops from the cavern's fretted height...
Page 78 - ... was the habitation of our first parents before the fall. It is naturally apt to fill the mind with calmness and tranquillity, and to lay all its turbulent passions at rest. It gives us a great insight into the contrivance and wisdom of providence, and suggests innumerable subjects for meditation. I cannot but think the very complacency and satisfaction which a man takes in these works of Nature to be a laudable if not a virtuous habit of mind.
Page 54 - ... to their cool roots could pierce ; For the fern threw her shadow the green moss upon. Where the dew ever sparkled undried by the sun ; When the graceful fern trembled before the keen blast. The moss guarded her roots till the stormwind had passed ; So no longer the wind parched the roots of the one, And the other was safe from the rays of the sun. And thus, and for ever, where'er the ferns grow.
Page 99 - Here to account the endlesse progeny Of all the weeds that bud and blossome there; But so much as doth need must needs be counted here.
Page 66 - Into the foaming torrent ! And of forms That rose amid the desert, rudely shaped By Superstition's hands when time was young...
Page 54 - And the cool dews of night on the mountain fern fell, And they glistened upon the green mosses as well. And the fern loved the mountain, the moss loved the moor, For the ferns were the rich, and the mosses the poor. But the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed high. And the ferns they were broken, and withered, and dry ; And the moss on the moorland grew faded and pale. And the fern and the moss shrank alike from the gale. So the fern on the mountain, the moss on the moor, Were withered and black...
Page 53 - The ferns were the rich and the mosses the poor ; And the glad breeze blew gaily — from heaven it came — And the fragrance it shed over each was the same ; And the warm sun shone brightly, and gilded the fern, And smiled on the lowly-born moss in its turn ; And the cool dews of night on the mountain-fern fell, And they glisten'd upon the green mosses as well.

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