The Life and Works of William Cowper: Now First Completed by the Introduction of His "private Correspondence". (Google eBook)

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Saunders and Otley, 1835
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Page 234 - Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow ; I see thee daily weaker grow ; 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust, disused, and shine no more, My Mary!
Page 306 - Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss: Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss Ah, that maternal smile! It answers Yes.
Page 390 - Support and ornament of Virtue's cause. There stands the messenger of truth: there stands The legate of the skies! His theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear. By him the violated law speaks out Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
Page 338 - There is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons who need no repentance.
Page 258 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man...
Page 36 - That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings. But thou hast little need. There is a book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright ; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
Page 373 - Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar, and to anticipate the skies.
Page 234 - THE twentieth year is well-nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast; Ah would that this might be the last! My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary!
Page 378 - Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods : And Time hath made thee what thou art a cave For owls to roost in.
Page 250 - He loved them both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her, again. Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline Or courage die away; But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life.

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