English Sacred Poetry of the Olden Time (Google eBook)

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Religious tract society, 1864 - English poetry - 190 pages
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Page 61 - Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon. My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Page 57 - Go, soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand ! Fear not to touch the best, The truth shall be thy warrant Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie.
Page 61 - EVEN such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust ; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days ; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.
Page 62 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 175 - And throws the melons at our feet; But apples, plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by His hand From Lebanon He stores the land; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
Page 85 - A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here : Love said, You shall be he. I, the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah, my dear, I cannot look on thee.
Page v - Teaching over the whole book of sanctity and virtue, through all the instances of example, with such delight to those especially of soft and delicious temper, who will not so much as look upon truth herself, unless they see her elegantly...
Page 85 - I the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I ? Truth, Lord, but I have marred them : let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame ? My dear, then I will serve.
Page 84 - THE merry world did on a day With his train-bands and mates agree To meet together, where I lay, And all in sport to jeer at me. First, Beauty crept into a rose ; Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Page 59 - Tell charity of coldness. Tell law it is contention. And as they do reply. So give them still the lie. Tell fortune of her blindness, Tell nature of decay, Tell friendship of unkindness, Tell justice of delay. And if they will reply, Then give them all the lie.

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