Memoir of Mary L. Ware: Wife of Henry Ware, JrCrosby, Nichols, 1853 - 434 sider |
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affection anxiety beautiful believe blessing Boston Cambridge Channing character cheerful child Christian circumstances comfort connection cousin daugh DEAR EMMA dear father dear John DEAR MARY DEAR N death December 31 delightful doubt duty England enjoy enjoyment experience faith father fear feel felt Framingham friends give Greta Bridge happiness hear heard heart Henry Ware Hingham hope hour husband idea influence interest James Lovell kind knew labor leave letter live look Mary Pickard ment mind mother ness never night Osmotherly ourselves passed peculiar Penrith pleasure poor quiet reason rience seems sense September 13 sickness soul speak spirit strength strong suffering sure sympathy tell thing thought timate tion trial trust Waltham Abbey Ware's weak weeks whole Wilton House wish woman words write wrote
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Side 81 - In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired. No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request; Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him; it was blessedness and love!
Side 44 - Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
Side 87 - I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord : I will pay my vows unto the Lord now in the presence of all his people.
Side 9 - Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed ; Teach me to die, that so I may Rise glorious at the awful day.
Side 81 - Sound needed none, Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank The spectacle : sensation, soul and form All melted into him ; they swallowed up His animal being; in them did he live, And by them did he live; they were his life In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired.
Side 135 - Osmotherly, where she intended to pay a three weeks' visit at Brush Farm, and be picked up again at Penrith on their return. Her first letter from this place, written on the 2d of September, 1825, describes her hostess as "a small, thin old lady, with a pale complexion, and the very brightest black eyes, which sparkle when she speaks with a degree of animation almost amusing in such an old lady. She lives in a comfortable little two-story cottage, of four rooms, which far exceeds anything I ever...
Side 160 - ... you by the light of a rush candle, with my little workbox for a desk, almost afraid to breathe lest I should disturb my aunt's slumbers.' We two are the only beings in this little cottage ; for I have sent her sons out to sleep, as a precaution against the fever, and put a bed into a corner of the room for myself.
Side 162 - ... and feeling as if it was for ever that she parted with them. After an eight hours' solitary journey, she arrived, and had the pleasure of the most ecstatic greeting from poor little Jamie. " He ran round me, jumped up in my lap, stroked and kissed my face, as if he could not trust to the evidence of one sense, and at last burst out a-crying : " Uncle Mady won't go away again ! Uncle Mady live with Jamie every day, won't you, Uncle Mady?" Again she had to be sole nurse and servant in the sick...
Side 259 - If unexpected guests were not always filled, they were never annoyed, nor suffered to think much about it . A clergyman, who visited the house often as a student, says of Mrs. Ware : " I remember the wonder I felt at her humility and dignity in welcoming to her table on some occasion a troop of accidental guests, when she had almost nothing to offer 260 LIFE IN CAMBRIDGE.
Side 187 - ... She had no sympathy and little respect for that narrow view which insists that the departed and the living cannot share the same pure love of the same true heart. With regard to a former wife — ' she was the nearest and dearest to him'— she would say, 'how then can I do otherwise than love and cherish her memory ? ' And her children she received as a precious legacy ; they were to her from the first moment like her own ; neither she nor they knew any distinction.