The Glory of English Prose - Letters to My Grandson by Stephen Coleridge
page 14 of 149 (09%)
page 14 of 149 (09%)
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Share my harvest and my home."
That the Bible was translated into English at the time when the language was spoken and written in its most noble form, by men whose style has never been surpassed in strength combined with simplicity, has been a priceless blessing to the English-speaking race. The land of its birth, once flowing with milk and honey, has been for long centuries a place of barren rocks and arid deserts: Persians and Greeks and Romans and Turks have successively swept over it; the descendants of those who at different times produced its different books are scattered to the ends of the earth; but the English translation has for long years been the head corner-stone in homes innumerable as the sands of the sea in number. No upheavals of the earth, no fire, pestilence, famine, or slaughter, can ever now blot it out from the ken of men. When all else is lost we may be sure that the old English version of the Bible will survive. "Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away." Do not think it enough therefore, Antony, to hear it read badly and without intelligence or emotion, in little detached snippets, in church once a week. Read it for yourself, and learn to rejoice in the perfect balance, harmony, and strength of its noble style. Your loving old G.P. |
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