The Complaint: Or, Night-thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality..

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A. Millar ... and R. Dodsley, 1750 - 404 oldal

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20. 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.
7. 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.
10. oldal - This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule : Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death alone, can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us, embryos of existence, free.
20. oldal - Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears The palm, ' That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born.' All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel : and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least, their own ; their future selves applaud How excellent that life they ne'er will lead.
73. oldal - Pursuing, and pursued, each other's prey ; As wolves, for rapine; as the fox, for wiles ; Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in " Here he lies :" And dust " to dust
165. oldal - Who lives to nature, rarely can be poor ; Who lives to fancy, never can be rich. Poor is the man in debt ; the man of gold, In debt to fortune, trembles at her power.
91. oldal - ... ?—Thou, my all! My theme, my inspiration, and my crown ! My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world ! My light in darkness! and my life in death ! My boast through time!
40. oldal - Teaching, we learn; and, giving, we retain The births of intellect ; when dumb, forgot Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; Speech burnishes our mental magazine , Brightens, for ornament ; and whets, for use.
79. oldal - The prisoner of amaze ! — in his blest life I see the path, and in his death the price, And in his great ascent the proof supreme Of immortality.
128. oldal - While man is growing, life is in decrease; And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun ; As tapers waste, that instant they take fire.

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