The English Reader: Or, Pieces in Prose and Poetry, from the Best Writers ...

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David Clark, 1828 - 252 Seiten
 

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Seite 183 - No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.
Seite 248 - When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go Where universal love not smiles around, Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns; From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression.
Seite 245 - Cease then, nor order imperfection name; Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point: this kind this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee. Submit. — In this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear: Safe in the hand of one disposing Power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
Seite 193 - With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds...
Seite 198 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Seite 222 - By shameful variance betwixt man and man. How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms, Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs...
Seite 194 - Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep : All these with ceaseless praise his works behold Both day and night. How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator...
Seite 223 - Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's great Author rise, Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Rising or falling still advance his praise.
Seite 192 - Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied, for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant* sung; Silence was...
Seite 245 - Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame; Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent Spreads undivided, operates unspent, Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart, As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns; To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

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