Moral and sacred poetry, selected by T. Willcocks and T. Horton (Google eBook)

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Page 234 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Page 92 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin, his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
Page 85 - Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, And shadows forth its glory.
Page 184 - Lord, thy guests away. 2 Long have we roamed in want and pain, Long have we sought thy rest in vain ; Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost, Long have our souls been tempest-tost ; Low at thy feet our sins we lay ; Turn not, O Lord ! thy guests away.
Page 120 - Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the playplace of our early days ; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
Page 218 - Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave.
Page 21 - LET us with a gladsome mind Praise the Lord, for he is kind ; For his mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure.
Page 166 - Thrice holy Fount, thrice holy Fire, Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; Come, and Thy sacred unction bring To sanctify us while we sing. Plenteous...
Page 230 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war Might never reach me more ! My ear is pained, My soul is sick with every day's report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
Page 178 - Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet Thy blessed face to see ; For if thy work on earth be sweet, What will thy glory be...

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