Sacred specimens: selected from the early English poets ; with prefatory verses

Front Cover
John Mitford
Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, 1827 - English poetry - 237 pages
0 Reviews
 

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Selected pages

Contents

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 62 - THE merry world did on a day With his train-bands and mates agree To meet together, where I lay, And all in sport to jeer at me. First, Beauty crept into a rose ; Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Page 170 - 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 32 - 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 170 - 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. O holy hope! and high humility, High as the Heavens above! These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me To kindle my cold love, Dear, beauteous death!
Page 61 - 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 127 - 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. Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales Of endless treasure : Thy bounty offers easy sales Of lasting pleasure ; Thou ask'st the conscience what she ails, And swear'st...
Page 169 - I would I had in my best part Fit rooms for Thee ! or that my heart Were so clean as Thy manger was ! But I am all filth, and obscene ; Yet if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean.
Page 213 - 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 144 - We see Him come, and know Him ours, Who, with His sunshine and His showers, Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
Page 178 - Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep, Like fits of waking before sleep; Then shrinks into that fatal mould Where its first being was enroll'd.

Bibliographic information