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Page 228 - tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. 202 Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i
Page 94 - And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea; Where now the seamew pipes, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly The happy birds, that...
Page 166 - HAPPY day that fixed my choice On Thee, my Saviour and my God ! Well may this glowing heart rejoice, And tell its raptures all abroad.
Page 398 - Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Page 333 - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Page 384 - OH, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning ! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth ; Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.
Page 157 - Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam, Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night ! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.
Page 96 - For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Page 153 - The dying thief rejoiced to see That fountain in his day ; And there may I, though vile as he, Wash all my sins away.