The Atlantic Monthly, volume 08, No. 46, August, 1861
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In our eReader you can find the full English version of the book. Read The Atlantic Monthly, volume 08, No. 46, August, 1861 Online - link to read the book on full screen. Our eReader also allows you to upload and read Pdf, Txt, ePub and fb2 books. In the Mini eReder on the page below you can quickly view all pages of the book - Read Book The Atlantic Monthly, volume 08, No. 46, August, 1861
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Do I not walk the earth in a dream ofbliss, and see the footsteps of my Most Blessed Lord and his dear Motheron every rock and hill? I see the flowers rise up in clouds to adorethem. What am I, unworthy sinner, that such grace is granted me? OftenI fall on my face before the humblest flower where my dear Lord hathwritten his name, and confess I am unworthy the honor of copying hissweet handiwork. " The artist spoke these words with his hands clasped and his fervid eyesupraised, like a man in an... ecstasy; nor can our more prosaic Englishgive an idea of the fluent naturalness and grace with which such imagesmelt into that lovely tongue which seems made to be the natural languageof poetry and enthusiasm.
Agnes looked up to him with humble awe, as to some celestial being; butthere was a sympathetic glow in her face, and she put her hands on herbosom, as her manner often was when much moved, and, drawing a deepsigh, said, -- "Would that such gifts were mine!" "They are thine, sweet one, " said the monk.
What to read after The Atlantic Monthly, volume 08, No. 46, August, 1861?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Various to read onlineMoreLess
To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
Do I not walk the earth in a dream ofbliss, and see the footsteps of my Most Blessed Lord and his dear Motheron every rock and hill? I see the flowers rise up in clouds to adorethem. What am I, unworthy sinner, that such grace is granted me? OftenI fall on my face before the humblest flower where my dear Lord hathwritten his name, and confess I am unworthy the honor of copying hissweet handiwork. " The artist spoke these words with his hands clasped and his fervid eyesupraised, like a man in an... ecstasy; nor can our more prosaic Englishgive an idea of the fluent naturalness and grace with which such imagesmelt into that lovely tongue which seems made to be the natural languageof poetry and enthusiasm.
Agnes looked up to him with humble awe, as to some celestial being; butthere was a sympathetic glow in her face, and she put her hands on herbosom, as her manner often was when much moved, and, drawing a deepsigh, said, -- "Would that such gifts were mine!" "They are thine, sweet one, " said the monk.
What to read after The Atlantic Monthly, volume 08, No. 46, August, 1861?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Various to read onlineMoreLess
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