The English Works of George Herbert: Newly Arranged and Annotated and Considered in Relation to His Life, Band 3

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1905
 

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Seite 305 - THE FLOWER. How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns ! ev'n as the flowers in spring ; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
Seite 11 - COME, my Way, my Truth, my Life : Such a Way, as gives us breath : Such a Truth, as ends all strife : Such a Life, as killeth death. Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength Such a Light, as shows a feast : Such a Feast, as mends in length : Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Seite 213 - Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed; I will abroad. Call in thy death's head there; tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load.
Seite 321 - LIFE. I MADE a posie, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Seite 211 - THE COLLAR I STRUCK the board, and cried, no more; I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free ; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. , Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine, Before my sighs did dry it : there was corn, Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only lost to me? Have...
Seite 305 - The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivelled heart Could have recovered greenness?
Seite 11 - Profaneness in my head, Defects and darkness in my breast, A noise of passions ringing me for dead Unto a place where is no rest : Poor Priest thus am I drest.
Seite 79 - Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes; Trees would be tuning on their native lute To thy renown: but all their hands and throats Are brought to man, while they are lame and mute.
Seite 307 - And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain, And relish versing: O my only light, It cannot be That I am he, On whom thy tempests fell all night.
Seite 119 - WHO is the honest man ? He that doth still and strongly good pursue, To God, his neighbour, and himself most true ; Whom neither force nor fawning can Unpin or wrench from giving all their due. Whose honesty is not So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind Can blow away, or glittering look it blind ; Who rides his sure and even trot, While the world now rides by, now lags behind.

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