Miscellaneous Poems, Volume 1

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J. Harrop, 1773 - English poetry - 353 pages


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Page 58 - Saviour of the world was born; Rise to adore the mystery of love, Which hosts of angels chanted from above; With them the joyful tidings first begun Of God Incarnate and the Virgin's Son. Then to the watchful shepherds it was told, Who heard...
Page 92 - AND he spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint...
Page 59 - Then may we hope, the angelic hosts among, to sing, redeemed, a glad triumphal song: he that was born upon this joyful day around us all his glory shall display; saved by his love, incessant we shall sing eternal praise to heaven's almighty King.
Page 220 - Of so divine a Guest. Of so divine a Guest Unworthy though I be, Yet has my heart no rest Unless it come from Thee. Unless it come from Thee, In vain I look around ; In all that I can see No rest is to be found.
Page 180 - Why, plainly then, I never was unblest" — " Never? Thou speakest in a mystic strain, Which more at large I wish thee to explain."— And I reply'd, that I remember'd not A bad one ever to have been my lot: For, let the morning turn out how it will, I praise my God for ev'ry new one still: If I am pinch'd with hunger, or with cold, It does not make me to let go my hold ; Still...
Page 351 - The specious sermons of a learned man Are little else than flashes in the pan. The mere haranguing upon what they call Morality, is powder without ball : But he who preaches with a Christian grace Fires at your vices, and the shot takes place.
Page 144 - Therefore, no Truths concerning this Divine And Heav'nly Life can come within the Line Of all this Learning, as exalted far Above the Pow'r of Trial at its Bar ; Where both the Jury and the Judges too Are born with Eyes incapable to view. Living and moving in this World's Demesne...
Page 53 - Himself to behold what we do ; To His Works all around Him His Mercies extend ; His Works have no Number, His Mercies no End. He accepteth our Thanks, if the Heart do but pay ; Tho' we never can reach Him, by all we can say.
Page 302 - To show his Pow'r, throws all the rest away, Which in itself was equally as fine ? What an Idea this of Pow'r Divine ! Happy for us, if under God's Commands We were as Clay is in the Potter's Hands ; Pliant and yielding readily to take The proper Form which He is pleas'd to make!
Page 49 - Lord is my shepherd; what then shall 1 fear? "What danger can frighten me whilst he is near? Not, when the time calls me to walk thro...

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