The complaint: or, Night thoughts on life, death, and immortality. To which is added, A paraphrase on part of the book of Job. With the addition of the author's life, by an eminent hand

Robert & Andrew Foulis, Printers to the University, 1771 - 263 Seiten

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Seite 1 - From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose I wake : how happy they who wake no more ! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.
Seite 7 - ... immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves ; Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread : But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close; where past the shaft no trace is found.
Seite 20 - Nature, in zeal for human amity, Denies or damps an undivided joy. Joy is an import; joy is an exchange; Joy flies monopolists; it calls for two: Rich fruit!
Seite 68 - Our life, tho' still more rapid in its flow, Nor mark the much irrevocably laps'd, And mingled with the sea.
Seite 5 - Death ! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. The sun himself by thy permission shines, And one day thou shalt pluck him from his sphere...
Seite 17 - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven : And how they might have borne more welcome news.
Seite 45 - He rose! he rose! he burst the bars of death. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates! And give the King of Glory to come in. Who is the King of Glory ? he who left His throne of glory for the pang of death. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates!
Seite 5 - tis the common lot: In this shape or in that has Fate entail'd The mother's throes on all of woman born, Not more the children than sure heirs of pain.
Seite 19 - To gentle life's descent We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain. We take fair days in winter, for the spring; And turn our blessings into bane.
Seite 3 - What can preserve my life? or what destroy? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there. 'Tis past conjecture: all things rise in proof. While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion...

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