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appear bear beneath birds boast born breast cause close dark dear death deep delight desire divine earth eyes face fair faith fame fear feel fire force future give glory grace groves half hand happy hast head hear heart heaven hope hour kind knew known labour lambs leaves length less light live Lord lost Mary mind muse nature never night o'er once pain peace perhaps pleasure praise prove received rest rise scarce scene seek shades shine shore side sight skies smile song soon soul sound spirit spring stream sure sweet task tears tell thee theme thine things thou thoughts treasure true truth turn verse voice wast wish worth young youth
32. oldal - GOD moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform ; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will.
46. oldal - SOMETIMES a light surprises ^ The Christian while he sings : It is the Lord who rises With healing in His wings. When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again A season of clear shining, To cheer it, after rain.
14. oldal - E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die.
315. oldal - Atlantic billows roared, When such a destined wretch as I, Washed headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever left.
317. oldal - No poet wept him : but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear. And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme, A more enduring date. But misery still delights to trace Its 'semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allay'd, No- light propitious shone; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd each alone : But I beneath...
250. oldal - Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak. She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.
32. 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.
29. oldal - A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic, like the sun ; It gives a light to every age, It gives, but borrows none. 3 The hand that gave it, still supplies The gracious light and heat ; His truths upon the nations rise, They rise, but never set. 4 Let everlasting thanks be thine, For such a bright display, As makes a world of darkness shine With beams of heavenly day.
36. oldal - GOD of my life, to Thee I call, Afflicted at thy feet I fall ; When the great water-floods prevail, Leave not my trembling heart to fail ! 2 Friend of the friendless, and the faint ! Where should I lodge my deep complaint ? Where but with Thee, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor...