The works of the English poets. With prefaces, biographical and critical, by S. Johnson (Google eBook)

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Page 232 - Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy.
Page 338 - ... there is all Nature cries aloud Through all her works). He must delight in virtue ; And that which He delights in must be happy. But when ? or where ? This world was made for Caesar — I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them.
Page 236 - Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious, lonely wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my pains beguile : The barren wilderness shall smile, With sudden greens and herbage crowned, And streams shall murmur all around...
Page 232 - In foreign realms and lands remote, Supported by Thy care, Through burning climes they pass unhurt, And breathe in tainted air.
Page 337 - Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, — And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue; And that which He delights in must be happy.
Page 284 - A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Page 259 - And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day, big with the fate Of Cato and of Rome" Our father's death Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, And close the scene of blood.
Page 117 - Their stated course, and leave the beaten track. The youth was in a maze, nor did he know Which way to turn the reins, or where to go ; Nor wou'd the horses, had he known, obey.
Page 233 - For though in dreadful whirls we hung High on the broken wave, I knew thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save.
Page 261 - Remember what our father oft has told us : The ways of heaven are dark and intricate, Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors : Our understanding traces them in vain, Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search : Nor sees with how much art the windings run, Nor where the regular confusion ends.

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