Mit mondanak mások - Írjon ismertetőt
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ambition angels beneath bids bliss cause Creation dark dead death deep Deity delight divine dread dream dust earth endless eternal fair fall fate fear feel fire flame fond fool future give glory gods grave guilt hand happiness hear heart Heaven hope hour human immortal kind leave less life's light live look Lorenzo man's mankind mean mind mortal Nature Nature's never night o'er once pain passion past peace pleasure poor praise present pride proud Reason rich rise round scene seen sense shines sight skies smile song soon soul sphere spirit stars strange strike sure tell thee theme thine things thou thought thousand throne triumph true truth turn various virtue whole wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched
11. oldal - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
22. oldal - Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread ; But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close ; where past the shaft no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel ; So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
10. oldal - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause, An awful pause ! prophetic of her end.
9. oldal - Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
21. oldal - As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 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...
63. oldal - 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
59. oldal - Death is the crown of life : Were death denied, poor man would live in vain ; Were death denied, to live would not be life ; Were death denied, even fools would wish to die. Death wounds to cure : we fall ; we rise ; we reign ! Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies ; Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
116. oldal - One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine ; And light us deep into the Deity ; How boundless in magnificence and might! O what a confluence of ethereal fires, From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight ! Nor tarries there ; I feel it at my heart. My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts ; Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.
16. oldal - If so the tyrant, or his minion, doom. Want, and incurable disease, (fell pair !) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once ; and make a refuge of the grave, How groaning hospitals eject their dead ! What numbers groan for sad admission there! What numbers, once in fortune's lap high-fed. Solicit the cold hand of charity ! To shock us more, solicit it in vain ! Ye...
13. oldal - And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust? A soul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.