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ambition angels awful beneath bliss cause creation dark death deep Deity delight divine dread dust earth endless eternal fair fall fate fear feel field fire flame fond fool future give glory gods grave guilt hand happiness hear heart Heaven hope hour human immortal kind leave less light live look Lorenzo man's mankind mean mind mortal Nature Nature's never night o'er once pain passions past peace pleasure poor praise present pride proud reason rich rise round says scene seen sense shines sight skies smile song soon soul speak sphere stand stars strange strike sure tell thee theme thine things thou thought thousand throne triumph true truth turn virtue whole wide wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched Young
lxiv. oldal - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead; Thus on, till wisdom is pushed 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.
lxv. oldal - At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same. And why ? because he thinks himself immortal : All men think all men mortal, but themselves...
131. oldal - Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene ; Resumes them, to prepare us for the next. All evils natural are moral goods ; All discipline, indulgence, on the whole. None are unhappy : all have cause to smile, But such as to themselves that cause deny.
155. oldal - Which made the fond astronomer run mad; Darken his intellect, corrupt his heart ; Cause him to sacrifice his fame and peace To momentary madness, call'd delight : Idolater more gross, than ever kiss'd The lifted hand to Luna, or pour'd out The blood to Jove ! — O Thou, to whom belongs All sacrifice ! O Thou great Jove unfeign'd ! Divine Instructor ! Thy first volume this For man's perusal ; all in capitals...
lv. oldal - Unkindled, unconceiv'd, and from an eye Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall On me, more justly number'd with the dead. This is the desert, this the solitude: How populous, how vital is the grave! This is Creation's melancholy vault, The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom; The land of apparitions, empty shades!
lviii. oldal - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice; and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
liii. oldal - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder HE, who made him such...
22. oldal - And what is this ?—Survey the wondrous cure, And at each step let higher wonder rise! ' Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon Through means that speak its value infinite !' A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine* With blood divine of him I made my foe; Persisted to provoke!