Select poetry; chiefly on subjects connected with religion

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L.B. Seeley and Son, 1825 - 160 oldal

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101. oldal - Beyond the flight of time, Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blessed clime, Where life is not a breath ; Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward...
9. oldal - Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,— How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He who, bore in heaven the second name Had not on earth whereon to lay His head...
4. oldal - Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wond'rous tale, And nightly to the list'ning earth Repeats the story of her birth : Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What...
56. oldal - 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...
20. oldal - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
105. oldal - The voice at midnight came, He started up to hear ; A mortal arrow pierced his frame — He fell, but felt no fear.
40. oldal - 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.
61. oldal - Like to the falling of a star; Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue; Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood; Or bubbles which on water stood; Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to night. The wind blows out; the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past; and man forgot.
131. oldal - Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to Thy cross I cling; ' Naked, come to Thee for dress, Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Saviour, or I die.
155. oldal - RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace ; Rise from transitory things, Towards heaven, thy native place : Sun, and moon, and stars decay, Time shall soon this earth remove ; Rise, my soul, and haste away To seats prepared above.

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