Horæ Lyricæ: Poems, Chiefly of the Lyric Kind in Three Books : Sacred, I. to Devotion and Piety, II. to Virtue, Honour and Friendship, III. to the Memory of the Dead

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Galen H. May, 1802 - 287

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Strona ix - It is he that sitteth upon the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers; that stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in: that bringeth the princes to nothing; he maketh the judges of the earth as vanity.
Strona 40 - God. 2 Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown, Hang on His firm decree; He sits on no precarious throne, Nor borrows leave, TO BE. 3 Chained to His throne a volume lies, With all the fates of men; With every angel's form and size, Drawn by th
Strona 186 - Fruits refin'd, of noble taste ; Seraphs feed on such repast. Here, in a green and shady grove, S.treams of pleasure mix with love; There, beneath the smiling skies, Hills of contemplation rise; Now upon some shining top Angels light, and call me up ; I rejoice to raise my feet, Both rejoice when there we meet. • There are endless beauties more Earth hath no resemblance for; Nothing like them round the pole, Nothing can describe the soul.
Strona xiv - Furies with snaky hairs, or all the flowery stories of Elysium. And if we survey the one as themes divinely true, and the other as a medley of fooleries which we can never believe; the advantage for touching the springs of passion will fall infinitely on the side of the Christian poet...
Strona vii - Such a nation might truly say to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and my sister.
Strona 46 - Here the whole Deity is known ; Nor dares a creature guess Which of the glories brightest shone, The justice, or the grace.
Strona 41 - My God, I would not long to see My fate, with curious eyes; What gloomy lines are writ for me, Or what bright scenes may rise. 8 In thy fair book of life and grace, O may I find my name, Recorded in some humble place, Beneath my Lord the Lamb.
Strona 160 - Through all his meadows roll, He's but a wretch, with all his lands, That wears a narrow soul. He swells amidst his wealthy store, And proudly poising what he weighs. In his own scale he fondly lays Huge heaps of shining ore. He spreads the balance wide to hold His manors and his farms, And cheats the beam with loads of gold He hugs between his arms.
Strona 185 - Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone, I could never call my own : Riches that the world bestows, She can take, and I can lose ; But the treasures that are mine Lie afar beyond her line. When I view my spacious soul, And survey myself a whole, And enjoy myself alone, I'ma kingdom of my own.
Strona 163 - O, there are gardens of the' immortal kind, That crown the heavenly Eden's rising hills With beauty and with sweets ; no lurking mischief Dwells in the fruit, nor serpent twines the boughs ; The branches bend laden with life and bliss Ripe for the taste, but 'tis a steep ascent : Hold fast the golden chain...

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