Sacred poetry of the seventeenth century: including the whole of Giles Fletcher's Christ's victory and triumph; with copious selections from Spenser, Davies, Sandys [and others] With an introductory essay and critical remarks

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J. Rickerby, 1836 - English poetry
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Page 58 - Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy...
Page 333 - I SAW Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, ^ All calm, as it was bright ; And round Beneath it, Time in hours, days, years, Driv'n by the spheres Like a vast shadow mov'd ; in which the world And all her train were hurl'd.
Page 320 - After the sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory, "Whose light doth trample on my days — My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays.
Page 315 - Cause my speech is now decayed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When, God knows, I'm toss'd about, Either with despair, or doubt ; Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me...
Page 324 - Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white, celestial thought; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first love, And looking back — at that short space — Could see a glimpse of his bright face...
Page 51 - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath...
Page 320 - Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the Just, Shining nowhere, but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!
Page 320 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, At first sight, if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.
Page 170 - Man is his own star; and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate; Nothing to him falls early or too late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
Page 325 - O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track ! That I might once more reach that plain, Where first I left my glorious train; From whence the enlightened spirit sees That shady city of palm trees. But ah ! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way ! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; 30 And when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return.

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