OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Bohemian legends and other poems/John Huss

* related portals: Czech literature.
* related authors: Jan Hus.
JOHN HUSS.
Oh, mother earth, this son of thine Was worthy of the highest place, And though his ashes in the Rhine Were thrown, he lives still in his race. A dauntless soul that spoke the truth, When all the world in darkness slept; Bohemia’s martyred son in sooth Blanched not, though friends around him wept.
“Whom should I fear? The Emperor’s pass Promises liberty and peace.” But still his friends said: “Alas! We much misgive us of that peace.” “Whom should I fear then? Those who kill The body, but have no more power Over the soul that triumphs still, And conquers in the dying hour?”
“Nay, weep not, I must go from hence, I must speak out the words of God; I must make out my own defense, And prove it by the word of God; I will come back without the blot Of heresy upon my name; Then blessed, forsooth, will be my lot, And great indeed Bohemia’s fame.”
He went in faith—he went in hope— And prison walls, and dungeon cell, And torture of the chain and rope, Were his in that far land as well. They would not listen to his speech; Unheard, he was condemned to die. In vain he cried, “I do beseech— Oh, listen to me ere I die.”
Worn down by prison and by pain, Denied a counsellor for his cause, He called on God to help again His servant in the general pause. He was condemned, they listened not To words of his, however plain. What cared those priests for truth? I wot They scorned him in their proud disdain.
They placed the cap upon his brow, Painted with devils strange and wild, And tortured him—yes, even now— With gibe and curse, at which he smiled. With eyes upturned he prayed to God, Till his brave voice was hushed for aye. No greater martyr fled to God, Than he they burnt upon that day.
They burned him—yes that spirit high Was borne to God, by fiery wings; Praying for them he rose on high, Released from all these worldly things. He has no statue in the land Where he was born, and loved so well; But in the hearts of a small band, His ever living memory dwells.
Oh, mother earth, this son of thine Was worthy of the highest place. Oh, yes, Bohemia, he is thine, Born of thy own heroic race. Oh, Christian world, he too is thine, A martyr for the Christian faith. Oh, God of gods, he now is thine, Who died for Thee, and in Thy faith.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/Mater Dolorosa

MATER DOLOROSA.
I wander from the cloister, Adown the valley green. The spring air wakes my fancies, The dreams that might have been.
The picture of God’s mother, Hangs from the linden tree. My soul it starts with memories— Forgotten dreams I see.
Ah, strange this picture hidden, Half hid by flowrets fair, Was hung there by my mother, Years, years ago, just there.
Not long ago I gazing, Upon the picture felt Within my soul a sorrow— A bitterness there dwelt.
And while I look it changes; My mother’s face I see. The features calm in prayer— That prayer is for me.
The eyes with tear-drops heavy, The lips drawn for a kiss; My mother’s face the last time She kissed my brow in bliss.
And back I wander slowly, Beneath the trees alone, While thoughts of spring and sweetness, My God, from me have flown.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/Mountain Ballad

MOUNTAIN BALLAD.
“Tell me, granny, granny dearest, what will heal a wound, Heal the cut of one sore wounded, that he will not die?” “Open wounds on human bodies are not easily closed, Only the juice of witches’ herb heals beneath the sky.” “Tell me, granny, granny dearest, what will ease the pain, Heal the pain of one sore tortured, wounds on head and brow?” For such wounds on brow and forehead, there is but one aid, Leaves of the forest strawberry, laid on aching brow.
The little child in haste went to the neighbor’s pasture, “Oh, give me of thy juice, witches’ herb, that heals all pain.” Then from the meadow to the forest’s shade she wandered, “Oh, strawberry of God, give me of thy leaves that heal all pain.” All that she wanted, see, the flowers gave her gladly, And to the church she ran, where Christ before the altar, Outstretched upon the cross of shame, bows his dying head. “On Thy holy side, Jesus mine, I will not falter, But lay the healing herbs on Thy side and bloody brow, Then all the pain will cease from Thy side and wounded brow.
In the church steeple, lo! the bells are rung clear, And many people came from far and near; For what the little child had wished to do, God had fulfilled, the wounds were closed anew.
In that mountain village still they show the picture. Healed are the wounds of the crucified one, and instead Of the crown of thorns are lilies that droop o’er the dead.
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Italy in England

ITALY IN ENGLAND
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Night

"Meeting at Night" and "Parting at Morning" were published in Browning's 1845 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics as "Night and Morning", one poem in two parts. They were separated and given their present titles in 1849.
The grey sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; Three fields to cross till a farm appears; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match, And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each!
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Spain—The Confessional

Layout 2
[Spain]
I
It is a lie—their Priests, their Pope, Their Saints, their . . . all they fear or hope Are lies, and lies—there! through my door And ceiling, there! and walls and floor, There, lies, they lie—shall still be hurled Till spite of them I reach the world!
II
You think Priests just and holy men! Before they put me in this den I was a human creature too, With flesh and blood like one of you, A girl that laughed in beauty's pride Like lilies in your world outside.
III
I had a lover—shame avaunt! This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt, Was kissed all over till it burned, By lips the truest, love e'er turned His heart's own tint: one night they kissed My soul out in a burning mist.
IV
So, next day when the accustomed train Of things grew round my sense again, "That is a sin," I said: and slow With downcast eyes to church I go, And pass to the confession-chair, And tell the old mild father there.
V
But when I falter Beltran's name, "Ha?" quoth the father; "much I blame "The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve? "Despair not—strenuously retrieve! "Nay, I will turn this love of thine "To lawful love, almost divine;
VI
"For he is young, and led astray, "This Beltran, and he schemes, men say, "To change the laws of church and state "So, thine shall be an angel's fate, "Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll "Its cloud away and save his soul.
VII
"For, when he lies upon thy breast, "Thou mayst demand and be possessed "Of all his plans, and next day steal "To me, and all those plans reveal, "That I and every priest, to purge "His soul, may fast and use the scourge."
VIII
That father's beard was long and white, With love and truth his brow seemed bright; I went back, all on fire with joy, And, that same evening, bade the boy Tell me, as lovers should, heart-free, Something to prove his love of me.
IX
He told me what he would not tell For hope of heaven or fear of hell; And I lay listening in such pride! And, soon as he had left my side, Tripped to the church by morning-light To save his soul in his despite.
X
I told the father all his schemes, Who were his comrades, what their dreams; "And now make haste," I said, "to pray "The one spot from his soul away; "To-night he comes, but not the same "Will look!" At night he never came.
XI
Nor next night: on the after-morn, I went forth with a strength new-born. The church was empty; something drew My steps into the street; I knew It led me to the market-place: Where, lo, on high, the father's face!
XII
That horrible black scaffold dressed, That stapled block . . . God sink the rest! That head strapped back, that blinding vest, Those knotted hands and naked breast, Till near one busy hangman pressed, And, on the neck these arms caressed . . .
XIII
No part in aught they hope or fear! No heaven with them, no hell!—and here, No earth, not so much space as pens My body in their worst of dens But shall bear God and man my cry, Lies—lies, again—and still, they lie!
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix

Dramatic Romances and Lyrics.
"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX." (16—.)
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Pictor Ignotus

PICTOR IGNOTUS.
Florence, 15—.
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Saul

SAUL.
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Home-Thoughts, from Abroad

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD.
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Song

Layout 2
I
Nay but you, who do not love her,  Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught—speak truth—above her?  Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, And this last fairest tress of all, So fair, see, ere I let it fall?
II
Because, you spend your lives in praising;  To praise, you search the wide world over: Then why not witness, calmly gazing,  If earth holds aught—speak truth—above her? Above this tress, and this, I touch But cannot praise, I love so much!
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/Morning

"Meeting at Night" and "Parting at Morning" were published in Browning's 1845 Dramatic Romances and Lyrics as "Night and Morning", one poem in two parts. They were separated and given their present titles in 1849.
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun looked over the mountain's rim: And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me.
# Bells and Pomegranates, Second Series/The Boy and the Angel

Morning, evening, noon and night,: "Praise God!" sang Theocrite.
Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned.
Hard he laboured, long and well; O'er his work the boy's curls fell.
But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, "Praise God!"
Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful turned to work anew.
Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done; I doubt not thou art heard, my son:
As well as if thy voice to-day Were praising God, the Pope's great way.
This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome Praises God from Peter's dome."
Said Theocrite, "Would God that I Might praise him, that great way, and die!"
Night passed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone.
With God a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day.
God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night Now brings the voice of my delight."
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth Spread his wings and sank to earth;
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
And morning, evening, noon and night, Praised God in place of Theocrite.
And from a boy, to youth he grew: The man put off the stripling's hue:
The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay:
And ever o'er the trade he bent, And ever lived on earth content.
(He did God's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.)
God said, "A praise is in mine ear; There is no doubt in it, no fear:
So sing old worlds, and so New worlds that from my footstool go.
Clearer loves sound other ways: I miss my little human praise."
Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell.
'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome.
In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery,
With his holy vestments dight, Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:
And all his past career Came back upon him clear,
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, Till on his life the sickness weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near, An angel in a dream brought cheer:
And rising from the sickness drear He grew a priest, and now stood here.
To the East with praise he turned, And on his sight the angel burned.
"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell And set thee here; I did not well.
"Vainly I left my angel-sphere, Vain was thy dream of many a year.
"Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped-- Creation's chorus stopped!
"Go back and praise again The early way, while I remain.
"With that weak voice of our disdain, Take up creation's pausing strain.
"Back to the cell and poor employ: Resume the craftsman and the boy!"
Theocrite grew old at home; A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
One vanished as the other died: They sought God side by side.

### NOTES:

"The Boy and the Angel." An imaginary legend illustrating the worth of humble, human love to God, who missed in the praise of the Pope, Theocrite, and of the Angel Gabriel, the precious human quality in the song of the poor boy, Theocrite.
# Bible (Berean Standard)/3 John

A Greeting from the Elder
(2 John 1:1–3)
1 The elder,
To the beloved Gaius, whom I love in the truth:
$^2$ Beloved, I pray that in every way you may prosper and enjoy good health, as your soul also prospers. $^3$ For I was overjoyed when the brothers came and testified about your devotion to the truth, in which you continue to walk. $^4$ I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.
Gaius Commended for Hospitality
$^5$ Beloved, you are faithful in what you are doing for the brothers, and especially since they are strangers to you. $^6$ They have testified to the church about your love. You will do well to send them on their way in a manner worthy of God. $^7$ For they went out on behalf of the Name, accepting nothing from the Gentiles. $^8$ Therefore we ought to support such men, so that we may be fellow workers for the truth.
Diotrephes and Demetrius
$^9$ I have written to the church about this, but Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will not accept our instruction. $^{10}$ So if I come, I will call attention to his malicious slander against us. And unsatisfied with that, he refuses to welcome the brothers and forbids those who want to do so, even putting them out of the church.
$^{11}$ Beloved, do not imitate what is evil, but what is good. The one who does good is of God; the one who does evil has not seen God.
$^{12}$ Demetrius has received a good testimony from everyone, and from the truth itself. We also testify for him, and you know that our testimony is true.
Conclusion
(2 John 1:12–13)
$^{13}$ I have many things to write to you, but I would prefer not to do so with pen and ink. $^{14}$ Instead, I hope to see you soon and speak with you face to face.
Peace to you.
The friends here send you greetings.
Greet each of our friends there by name.

## Footnotes

* ↑ 1:9 Literally I have written something to the church
* ↑ 1:14 Literally and we will speak mouth to mouth; some translators begin a new verse (15) after face to face.
Old Testament
* Genesis
* Exodus
* Leviticus
* Numbers
* Deuteronomy
* Joshua
* Judges
* Ruth
* 1 Samuel
* 2 Samuel
* 1 Kings
* 2 Kings
* 1 Chronicles
* 2 Chronicles
* Ezra
* Nehemiah
* Esther
* Job
* Psalms
* Proverbs
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* Song of Solomon
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* Lamentations
* Ezekiel
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* Hosea
* Joel
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* Obadiah
* Jonah
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New Testament
* Matthew
* Mark
* Luke
* John
* Acts
* Romans
* 1 Corinthians
* 2 Corinthians
* Galatians
* Ephesians
* Philippians
* Colossians
* 1 Thessalonians
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* 1 Timothy
* 2 Timothy
* Titus
* Philemon
* Hebrews
* James
* 1 Peter
* 2 Peter
* 1 John
* 2 John
* 3 John
* Jude
* Revelation
# Bessie McCall (Smith)

In her coffin of pine,  All decently dressed, With the lights at her head  And the cross on her breast, With the roses she loved  Scattered over her pall, Lies all that remains  Of Bessie McCall --  --of Suicide Hall.
It was only last night  She was here with the rest, With a drink going 'round,  And the laughter, and jest, When a stranger came in  As the music began, And his eyes questioned hers--  Then we knew 'twas--THE MAN.
For she rose to her feet,  All trembling and white, With her hand at her heart,  Saying only "Good-night!" Then, as one in a dream,  She walked to the door, Staggered into the night,  And we saw her no more
Till they found her when dawn Grew gray in the skies, With the stain on her lips  And the rain in her eyes. She had found her last rest  Where the black gutter ran, And the locket she wore  Held the face of--THE MAN.
Oh, the price that we pay  For the single mistake! Oh, the souls that men slay  And the hearts that they break! Ah! Surely, somewhere,  God, who pities us all, Will care for the soul  Of Bessie McCall.
In her coffin of pine,  All decently dressed, With the lights at her head  And the cross at her breast, With the roses she loved  Scattered over her pall, Lies all that remains  Of Bessie McCall--  --of Suicide Hall.
--Langdon Smith, in New York American
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Transcribed from "The Pandex of the Press", Series II, Vol VI, No. 6, December 1907, p. 739:
https://archive.org/stream/pandexofpress06strerich#page/738/mode/2up
# Bessy Bell

When life looks drear and lonely, love,  And pleasant fancies flee, Then will the muses only, love,  Bestow a thought on me! Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love,  To waken strives in vain, To Joy's entrancing measure, love,  It ne'er can thrill again!  Why mock me, Bessy Bell?
Oh do not ask me ever, love,  For rapture-woven rhymes; For vain is each endeavour, love,  To sound Mirth's play-bell chimes! Yet still believe me, dearest love,  Though dull my song may be, This heart still doats sincerest love,  And grateful turns to thee!  My once true, Bessy Bell!
Those eyes still rest upon me, love!  I feel their magick spell! With that same look you won me, love,  Fair, gentle Bessy Bell! My doom you've idly spoken, love,  You never can be mine! But though my heart is broken, love,  Still, lady, it is thine!  Adieu, false Bessy Bell!
# Arthur Rackham: His Life and Work/Appendix A

APPENDIX A
Bibliography
WORKS CONSULTED FOR THE BIOGRAPHY
* The Studio, 15th April 1905: ‘Arthur Rackham: A Painter of Fantasies’, by A. L. Baldry.
* The Girl’s Realm, November 1908: ‘English Illustrators of Juvenile Books’, by Haldane Macfall.
* The Sphere, 27th November 1909: ‘The Art-Book Cult of the Season: The Work of Arthur Rackham’.
* Dekorative Kunst (Munich), December 1909: ‘Arthur Rackham’, by Ethel M. Chadwick.
* Le Journal (Paris), 4th December 1911: ‘Le Peintre-Sorcier’.
* Art et Décoration (Paris), July 1912: ‘Un Illustrateur Anglais: Arthur Rackham’, by A. Marguillier.
* St Nicholas (New York), March 1914: ‘Arthur Rackham: The Wizard at Home’, by Eleanor Farjeon.
* The Book Monthly, Christmas 1918–New Year 1919: ‘Mr Rackham and Fairies’, by James Milne.
* Arthur Rackham: A List of Books Illustrated by Him. Compiled by Frederick Coykendall, with an Introductory Note by Martin Birnbaum. New York, privately printed, 1922.
* The Bookman, October 1925: ‘The Worst Time in My Life’, by Arthur Rackham.
* The Bookman, October 1926: ‘The Value of Criticism’, by Arthur Rackham.
* The Bookman, December 1933: ‘Some Earlier Illustrated Books of Arthur Rackham’, by E. A. Osborne.
* The Old Water-Colour Society’s Club, Eleventh Annual Volume, 1934: ‘In Praise of Water-Colour’, by Arthur Rackham.
* The Art-Workers’ Guild: 1884–1934, by H.J.L.J. Massé, 1935.
* Arthur Rackham: A Bibliography, by Sarah Briggs Latimore and Grace Clark Haskell. Los Angeles, 1936.
* The Horn Book Magazine (Boston, U.S.A.), November–December 1939: ‘The Three Owls’ Notebook: A Christmas Ride with Arthur Rackham’, by Anne Carroll Moore.
* The Horn Book Magazine (Boston, U.S.A.), May–June 1940: ‘The Genius of Arthur ​Rackham’, by Robert Lawson; ‘Arthur Rackham and The Wind in the Willows’, by George Macy; ‘The Home of the Wee Folk: Where Arthur Rackham Lived and Worked in the Heart of Sussex Downs’, by P. G. Konody.
* The Old Water-Colour Society’s Club Eighteenth Annual Volume, 1940. ‘Arthur Rackham: An Appreciation’, by A. S. Hartrick, R.W.S.
* Dictionary of National Biography, 1931–40. Arthur Rackham, by Herbert B. Grimsditch.
* Everybody’s Weekly, 27th September 1947. ‘The Beloved Enchanter’, by Marita Ross.
Other contemporary magazine and newspapers;
catalogues of the Leicester Galleries, London:
the books illustrated by Arthur Rackham.
# CIA World Fact Book, 2004/Mayotte

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# CIA World Fact Book, 2004/Mexico

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# CIA World Fact Book, 2004/Mongolia

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# Book of Wisdom

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Book of Wisdom."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* A book of the Hebrew bible, also known as Wisdom and Wisdom of Solomon; for versions, see Wisdom (Bible)
* Biblical commentary and analysis:
** "Wisdom, Book of," in The American Cyclopædia (1879)
** "Wisdom, Book of," in Encyclopædia Britannica (11th ed., 1911)
** "Book of Wisdom," in Catholic Encyclopedia, (ed.) by Charles G. Herbermann and others, New York: The Encyclopaedia Press (1913)
# Book of Rites

* related portals: Confucianism.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
Chinese: 禮記/礼记, variously romanized as the Lǐjì, Li-Chi, and Li Ki and typically translated as the Book of Rites, is an ancient Chinese guide to religious ritual. One of the Five Classics of ancient Chinese literature. Sometimes combined with the Rites of Zhou (Zhouli).
English-language translations of 禮記 include:
# Black Star's Campaign/Advertisement

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