The harp of Judah; or, Gems of sacred poetry

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172. oldal - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ; — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
151. 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...
158. oldal - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
68. oldal - Thou eternal One, whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide, Unchanged through Time's all-devastating flight— Thou only God! There is no God beside! Being above all beings! Mighty One, Whom none can comprehend, and none explore...
169. oldal - IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me...
161. oldal - Bartholomew," was passed from man to man, But out spake gentle Henry "No Frenchman is my foe. Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go...
17. oldal - There if thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God ! There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays ; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise.
4. oldal - It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace.
172. oldal - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill; Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath...
68. oldal - In its sublime research, Philosophy May measure out the ocean deep — may count The sands or the sun's rays — but, God ! for Thee There is no weight nor measure ; none can mount Up to Thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ; And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity.

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