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The child is father of the man.


The tear down childhood's cheek that flows
Is like the dew-drop on the rose;
When next the summer breeze comes by
And waves the bush, the flower is dry.


And still I looked upon their loveliness,
And sought through nature for similitudes
Of perfect beauty, innocence, and bliss;
And fairest imagery around me thronged:
Dew-drops at day-spring on a seraph's locks,
Roses that bathe about the well of life, [cheek,
Young loves, young hopes, dancing on morning's
Gems leaping in the coronet of Love!
So beautiful, so full of life, they seemed
As made entire of beams of angels' eyes.
Gay, guileless, sportive, lovely, little things!
Playing around the den of sorrow, clad
In smiles, believing in their fairy hopes,
And thinking man and woman true! all joy,
Happy all day, and happy all the night! Pollok.

Ah! first-born of thy mother,

When life and hope were new,
Kind playmate of thy brother,

Thy sister, father too;
My light where'er I go,

My bird when prison-bound,
My hand-in-hand companion--s0
My prayers shall hold thee round.

Leigh Hunt.
Ah! now I see the smoke ascend

From forth the glimmering thatch;
Now my heart beats at every step,

And now I lift the latch;
Now starting from the blazing hearth,

My little children bound,
And loud with shrill and clamorous joy,
Their happy sire surround.

Sir E. Bridyes.

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And I saw a lovely child who knelt
Beside the cot where his father dwelt,
At the sunset hour; and his hands were raised
Toward the sky on which he gazed;
And on his rosy lips a prayer
Seemed hovering like the summer air:
"Fear’st thou,” said I, “the shades of even?”
He smiled, and said, “See how bright is heaven!”

M. A. Browne. Thou art looking now at the birds, Genie,

But oh, do not wish their wing! That would tempt the fowler, Genie,

Stay thou on earth and sing;
Stay in the nursing nest, Genie,

Be not soon thence beguil'd;
Thou wilt ne'er find a second, Genie,
Never be twice a child.

Miss Jewsbury.


The choir
With all the choicest music of the kingdom
Together sung Te Deum.


If you oblige me suddenly to choose,
The choice is made; for I must both refuse.

Dryden. Wisdom, of what herself approves, makes choice, Nor is led captive by the common voice.


Let his years be few or many, high or humble be

his lot, Him my inmost heart has chosen, and again it chooses not.

From the Hindoo of Valmiki.

Thus in sea of folly tost
My choicest hours of life are lost.






LET your reason with your choler question
What 't is you go about; to climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first.


Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

It engenders choler, planteth anger;
And better 't were that both of us did fast,
Since of ourselves ourselves are choleric,
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.-Shakspere.


WHEN once thy foot enters the church, be bare;
God is more there than thou: for thou art there
Only by His permission. Then beware;
And make thyself all reverence and fear.
Kneeling ne'er spoild silk stocking. Quit thy state.
All equal are within the church's gate.

G. Herbert.
Patience in want, and poverty of mind,
These marks of church and churchmen he designed,
And living taught, and dying left behind.

Dryden. Church ladders are not always mounted best By learned clerks and latinists professed. Cowper.

What is a church?–Our honest sexton tells, ’T is a tall building with a spire and bells.

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What is a church?—Let truth and reason speak,
They should reply, “The faithful, pure, and meek,
From Christian folds the one selected race,
Of all professions and of every place. Crabbe.

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What stern ungentle hands Have lopped, and hewed, and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in.

Shakspere. Thus in a circle runs the peasant's pain, And the year rolls within itself again. Dryden. Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow, Stopped in their channels, found its freedom lost.

Dryden. Unseen he glided through the joyous crowd, With darkness circled, and an ambient cloud.—Pope.

While these fond arms, thus circling you, may prove More heavy chains than those of hopeless love.

Prior. From whence the innumerable race of things, By circular successive order springs. Roscommon. If their loves' motions ours must imitate, Our knowledge, like our blood, must circulate.

Denham. Then a deeper still, In circle following circle, gathers round To close the face of things.


Money, the life-blood of the nation,

Corrupts and stagnates in the veins, Unless a proper circulation

Its motion and its heat maintains.


Planets circle round the sun,
Life doth in a circle run;
And the circle e'er must be
Emblem of eternity;
All that 's fair, and all that's sweet,
In the curve and circle meet;
And God's love through all creation,
Sends the vital circulation.





Of these supposed crimes, give me leave,
By circumstance, to aquit myself.


This fierce abridgment
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in.


To worthiest things,
Virtue, art, beauty, fortune, now I see,
Rareness or use, not nature, value brings;
And such as they are circumstanced they be.

Donne. Faint is the flower that droops

Beneath a cloudier clime;
Weak is the heart that stoops
To circumst
or time.

Arthur Brooke.

What is the city but the people?

-True, the people are the city. Shakspere.
I do suspect I have done some offence,
That seems disgracious in the city's eye.

Shakspere. When he speaks not like a citizen, You find him like a soldier.


The fawning citizen, whose love's bought dearest, Deceives his brother when the sun shines clearest, Gets, borrows, breaks, lets in and stops out light, And lives a knave, to leave his son a knight.

William Browne. This world’s a city, full of straying streets, And death 's the market-place where each one meets.

Old Play, 1634.

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