Selection of Poems ... (Google eBook)

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1808 - Poetry
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Page 293 - THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye ; My noonday walks He shall attend, . And all my midnight hours defend.
Page 150 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Page 132 - Go, Soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless arrant: Fear not to touch the best; The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie. Say to the court, it glows And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church it shows What's good, and doth no good: If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates, they live Acting by others...
Page 208 - When all thy mercies, O my God, My rising soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In wonder, love, and praise.
Page 263 - Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
Page 171 - What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet, From birds among the bowers.
Page 264 - Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, The Moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays ; But lately I mark'd when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again. But man's faded glory what change shall renew? Ah, fool...
Page 150 - Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired ; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee ; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
Page 134 - Tell arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming, Tell schools they want profoundness, And stand too much on seeming.
Page 133 - Tell zeal it wants devotion. Tell love it is but lust, Tell time it is but motion, Tell flesh it is but dust : And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie.

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