Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
read more

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!

Ancestral voices prophesying war.

Ancestral voices prophesying war.

Prognostics do not always prove prophecies, at least the wisest
prophets make sure of the event first.

Prognostics do not always prove prophecies, at least the wisest
prophets make sure of the event first.

There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceased,
The which read more

There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceased,
The which observed, a man may prophesy,
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasured.

I shall always consider the best guesser the best prophet.
[Lat., Bene qui conjiciet, vatem hunc perhibebo optimum.]

I shall always consider the best guesser the best prophet.
[Lat., Bene qui conjiciet, vatem hunc perhibebo optimum.]

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that read more

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."

From hence, no question, has sprung an observation
. . . confirmed now into a settled opinion, that some read more

From hence, no question, has sprung an observation
. . . confirmed now into a settled opinion, that some long
experienced souls in the world, before their dislodging, arrive
to the height of prophetic spirit.

And they were offended in him. But Jesus said unto them, A
prophet is not without honour, save in read more

And they were offended in him. But Jesus said unto them, A
prophet is not without honour, save in his own country, and in
his own house.

A tunnel underneath the sea from Calais straight to Dover, Sir,
The squeamish folks may cross by land from read more

A tunnel underneath the sea from Calais straight to Dover, Sir,
The squeamish folks may cross by land from shore to shore,
With sluices made to drown the French, if e'er they would come
over, Sir,
Has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous
bore.