An essay on man: in four epistles to H. St. John, Lord Bolingbroke (Google eBook)

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H. Benton, 1824 - Poetry - 67 pages
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Page 19 - Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent : Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
Page 20 - With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast; In doubt his Mind or Body to prefer; Born but to die, and...
Page 53 - What Conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do; This teach me more than Hell to shun, That more than Heav'n pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives; T
Page 12 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Page x - The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar; Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise ; , Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, But vindicate the ways of God to man.
Page 13 - Lo the poor Indian ! whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way...
Page 13 - Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that Hope to be thy blessing now.
Page 54 - Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Page 54 - Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume Thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land, On each I judge Thy foe.
Page 56 - Hark! they whisper; Angels say, Sister Spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?

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