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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.
The best way to predict the future is to invent it.
The best way to predict the future is to invent it.
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.
My gran'ther's rule was safer 'n 't is to crow:
Don't never prophesy--onless ye know.
My gran'ther's rule was safer 'n 't is to crow:
Don't never prophesy--onless ye know.
We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well
that ye take heed, as unto read more
We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well
that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place,
until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your hearts:
Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the scripture is of any
private interpretation.
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
No mighty trance, or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
No mighty trance, or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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.
