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Page 63 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Page 176 - 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. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ; So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.
Page 176 - 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...
Page 34 - Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon. My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Page 219 - CREATOR spirit, by whose aid The world's foundations first were laid, Come visit every pious mind ; Come pour thy joys on human kind ; From sin and sorrow set us free, And make thy temples worthy thee.
Page 64 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill: But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Page 150 - We see Him come, and know Him ours, Who, with His sunshine and His showers, Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
Page 68 - He is a path, if any be misled ; He is a robe, if any naked be ; If any chance to hunger, He is bread ; If any be a bondman, He is free ; If any be but weak, how strong is He ! To dead men life He is, to sick men health ; To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth ; A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth.
Page 131 - FALSE world, thou ly'st : thou canst not lend The least delight : Thy favours cannot gain a friend, They are so slight : Thy morning pleasures make an end To please at night : Poor are the wants that thou supply'st : And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet thou vy'st With Heaven ; fond earth, thou boast'st ; false world, thou ly'st.
Page 173 - He is thy gracious Friend, And (O my soul awake!) Did in pure love descend, To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress, and thy ease. Leave then thy foolish ranges; For none can thee secure But One who never changes — Thy God, thy life, thy cure!