Original and Select Poems, Moral, Religious and Sentimental: Calculated to Refine the Taste, Elevate the Mind, and Attract the Attention of the Youth of Both Sexes

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Webster and Wood, 1827 - American poetry - 144 pages
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Page 28 - Ah! little think the gay, licentious crowd, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; They, who their thoughtless hours, in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel riot waste: Ah! little think they, while they dance along, How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; •Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs! how many drink the
Page 101 - BIRDS. It wins my admiration To view the structure of that little work— A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without; No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut; No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert; No glue to join; his little beak was all;— And yet
Page 30 - Could we with ink the ocean fill, Was the whole earth of parchment made; Was every single stick a quill, Was every man a scribe by trade;; To write the love of God alone, Would drain the ocean dry, Nor would the scroll contain the whole, Though stretch'd from sky to sky.
Page 1 - Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be; In ev'ry work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend.
Page 66 - Who would rob a hermit of his weeds, His few books, or his beads, or maple dish? Or do his gray hairs any violence? But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard Of
Page 23 - love in solitude to shed, . The penitential tear, And all his promises to plead, Where none but God can hear. I love to think on mercies past, And future good implore, And all my cares and sorrows cast, On Him, whom I adore. I love, by faith, to take a view Of brighter scenes in heaven; The prospect oft my strength renews, While here by
Page 75 - Time is the season fair of living well, The path of glory, or the path of hell." I asked my Bible, and methinks it said, "Time is the present hour, the past is fled. Live: live to-day; to-morrow never yet On any human being rose or set.
Page 75 - Time is the warp of life," he said; oh tell The young, the gay, the fair, to weave it well! I asked, the ancient, venerable dead, Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled: From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed, " Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode!" 1 asked a dying sinner, ere the tide Of
Page 28 - eat the bitter bread Of misery, sore pierced by wintry winds; How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty: How many, rack'd with honest passion, droop In deep retir'd distress! How many stand Around the
Page 47 - ON SOLITUDE. It is not that my lot is low, That bids this silent tear to flow; It is not grief that bids me moan; It is, that I am all alone. In woods and glens I love to roam, When the tir'd hedger hies him home; Or by the

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