The Complaint: Or, Night-thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality. : To which is Added, A Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job

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A. Millar ... and R. Dodsley, 1750 - 326 oldal
 

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14. oldal - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
14. oldal - Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread; But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close ; where past the shaft, no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel; So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
5. oldal - 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? With the years beyond the flood.
34. oldal - Can gold gain friendship ? Impudence of hope ! As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loan for love. Lorenzo ! pride repress ; nor hope to find A friend, but what has found a friend in thee. All like the purchase ; few the price will pay ; And this makes friends such miracles below.
260. oldal - One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine ; And light us deep into the DEITY. How boundless in magnificence and might ! O what a confluence of ethereal fires, From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight ! Nor tarries there ; I feel it at my heart. My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts; Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.
55. oldal - Death is the crown of life : Were death denied, poor man would live in vain : Were death denied, to live would not be life: Were death denied, e'en fools would wish to die. Death wounds to cure; we fall, we rise, we reign! Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies, Where blooming Eden withers in our sight. Death gives us more than was in Eden lost! This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
13. oldal - There's no prerogative in human hours. In human hearts what bolder thought can rise Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn? Where is to-morrow? In another world. For numbers this is certain; the reverse Is sure to none; and yet on this perhaps...
303. oldal - And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes, Beyond the flaming limits of the world Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight Of Fancy, when our hearts remain below ? Virtue abounds in flatterers and foes ; Tis pride to praise her, penance to perform. To more than words, to more than worth of tongue, Lorenzo ! rise, at this auspicious hour, An hour when...
49. oldal - Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, To damp our brainless ardours, and abate That glare of life which often blinds the wise. Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth...
137. oldal - tis revolution all ; All change ; no death. Day follows night ; and night The dying day ; stars rise, and set, and rise ; Earth takes th

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