. La porte belle. u sera et ce que vous avez sera après vous êtes mort. Penser que l'herbe sur ta tombe est green;pense que tu vois ta chaise vide^Les vêtements vide tu as l'habitude de le porter.La salle vide où ton a été longtemps hanter ; pense que l'allée, la prairie et le sommet de la montagne woodAnd savoir tes pieds pas plus.Ni l'artère bruyante, ni à terre toutes les sondes simple espace blanc où tu es toi-même haststood. Au milieu de cette pensée-créé le silence, sayTo ton âme dénudée : Que suis-je maintenant et ichere fThen, tourner et faire face à la petite, la réduction a été careWhich te ronge pour l'homme

• Contributeur: The Reading Room / Alamy Banque D'Images
• ID de l’image: 2AG48C3
• Taille du fichier: 7,1 MB (242,6 KB Téléchargement compressé)
• Autorisations: Modèle - non | Propriété - non
• Dimensions: 1595 x 1566 px | 27 x 26,5 cm | 10,6 x 10,4 inches | 150dpi

Informations supplémentaires

Cette image appartient au domaine public, ce qui signifie que le droit d’auteur a expiré ou que le titulaire du droit d’auteur a renoncé à ses droits. Les frais facturés par Alamy couvrent l’accès à la copie haute résolution de l’image.

Cette image peut avoir des imperfections car il s’agit d’une image historique ou de reportage.

. The gate beautiful. u will be and what you willbe after you are dead. Think that the grass upon thy grave is green;Think that thou seest thine own empty chair^The empty garments thou wast wont to wear.The empty room where long thy haunt hath been ; Think that the lane, the meadow and the woodAnd mountain summit know thy feet no more.Nor the loud thoroughfare, nor sounding shore—All mere blank space where thou thyself haststood. Amid this thought-created silence, sayTo thy stripped soul: What am I now and ichere fThen turn, and face the petty, narrowing careWhich has been gnawing thee for many a day, And it will die, as dies a wailing breeze, Lost in the solemn roar of bounding seas, *[143] Cl^e iWaSing of jtten [143] Tis the front toward life that matters most- The tone, the -point of view, The conMancy that in defeatRemains untouched and true ; ^For death in patriot fight may be Less gallant than a smile, And high endeavor, to the gods, Seem in itself worth while!* [ 146 CHAPTER ELEVENTH Ci^e jWaMns of pLm. HE tree registers its age byannual circles of growth.The year that leaves nomark cannot be a worthyyear. Pliidias put himselfunder still severer test. Hismotto was, No day without a line. He mustbe a little better artist every evening than hewas in the morning. Life that is not growingis decaying. Some people do not like to admittheir age—they cannot endure the thoughtthat they are growing older. But our onlyconcern need be to put so much true and beau-tiful living into every passing year that thecoming of a new birthday shall never fret us.We should be truly ashamed of any birthday, however, which marks an empty year, withnothing worth while in it to show that we havelived. The one real business of life is making men.[ 147 ] C]^e (5att I5tanti(nl St. Paul tells us this in a noble passage inwhich he is speaking of Christs work after hisascension. He gave some to be apostles, someprophets, some pastors and teachers. Thepurpose of all this giving of divinely endow

Recherche dans la banque de photos par tags

• bookcentury1900
• bookdecade1900