Poems on Several Occasions (Google eBook)

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A. Manson, P. Thompson, H. Newton, S. Bland, and R. Dursley., 1777 - 230 pages
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Page 138 - He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.
Page 222 - If, while this wearied flesh draws fleeting breath, Not satisfied with life, afraid of death, It haply be Thy will, that I should know Glimpse of delight, or pause from anxious woe ! From Now, from instant Now, great Sire ! dispel The clouds that press my soul ; from Now reveal A gracious beam of light ; from Now inspire My tongue to sing...
Page 138 - I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever : nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him.
Page 188 - scapes The men their lyres, the maids their voices raise, To sing my happiness and Abra's praise, And slavish bards our mutual loves rehearse In lying strains and ignominious verse ; While from the banquet leading forth the bride, Whom prudent love from public eyes should...
Page 73 - And fets men's faith by his opinions. The fcholars of the Stagyrite, Who for the old opinion fight, Would make their modern friends confefs, The diff'rence but from more to lefs.
Page 91 - With honour take her back again ? From hence I logically gather, The woman cannot live with either. Now, I have two right...
Page 138 - And he spake of trees, from the cedar-tree that is in Lebanon, even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall : he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.
Page 102 - To master John the English maid A hornbook gives of gingerbread; And, that the child may learn the better, As he can name, he eats the letter.
Page 207 - And apter utensils their place supply. These things and thou must share one equal lot: Die, and be lost, corrupt, and be forgot; While still another, and another race Shall now supply, and now give up the place: From earth all came, to earth must all return; Frail as the cord, and brittle as the urn.
Page 109 - Which all must grant, though few can spell. You tell your doctor that you're ill, And what does he but write a bill ? Of which you need not read one letter ; The worse the scrawl, the dose the better ; For if you knew but what you take, Though you recover, he must break.

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