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Poems Divine and Moral: Many of Them Now First Published (Classic Reprint)
Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2017
Poems Divine and Moral: Many of Them Now First Published
John Bowdler, Jr.
Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2016
adore art thou awful beams Binstead bless blest bliss bloom bosom Bowdler breast bright charm cheer dark death divine dread e'er earth ELIZABETH CARTER eternal ev'ry fade fair faith false earth fame father's fear feel flowing tears glory glow grace grave grief hallow'd hand hast hear heart Heaven heavenly holy honour hope hour human immortal song John Marriott John Moultrie King life's light little heaven LORD lov'd lyre mercy mind morn mourn Nature's ne'er night o'er pain peace pleasure pow'r praise prayer pride PSALM rapture reign rise sacred SAVIOUR scene seraphs shades shine sigh silent sing skies sleep smile solemn song sooth sorrow soul sound spirit stamp'd sweet tear tempest thee thine Thomas Bowdler thou art thought thro throne tomb tongue trembling truth Twas virtue voice weep wings youth
Sida 40 - His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Sida 261 - A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Sida 283 - The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order...
Sida 281 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown ; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Sida 361 - But gladly, as the precept were her own : And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she. My mother ! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss : Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile...
Sida 284 - The primogenitive and due of birth, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand in authentic place? Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy: The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, VOL.
Sida 286 - Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note.
Sida 307 - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the, knell of my departed hours : Where are they?
Sida 285 - Or of the eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell?
Sida 163 - 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. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like...