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Seite 229 - To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated Night, Devoid of sense and motion?
Seite 201 - I am as sorry as if the original fault had been my fault, because myself have seen his demeanour no less civil than he excellent in the quality he professes: besides, divers of worship have reported his uprightness of dealing which argues his honesty, and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art.
Seite 224 - I heard the voice of Jesus say, I am this dark world's light, Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, And all thy day be bright. I looked to Jesus, and I found In Him my star, my sun ; And in that light of life I'll walk Till travelling days are done.
Seite 76 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ? "We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key, As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds, Had been incorporate.
Seite 316 - In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text...
Seite 83 - IT is the first mild day of March : Each minute sweeter than before, The redbreast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare And grass in the green field.
Seite 256 - CD, to the evil example of all others in the like case offending, against the form of the statute in such case made and provided, and against the peace of our Lord the King, his crown and dignity.
Seite 76 - tis granted thee." '' Then," said the rose, with deepened glow, " On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused, in silent thought, — What grace was there that flower had not ? 'Twas but a moment, — o'er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws, And robed in nature's simplest weed. Could there a flower that rose exceed ? The Rose.
Seite 345 - Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.