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Seite 31 - SAVE me, O God ; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.
Seite 17 - My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise — The son of parents passed into the skies.
Seite 214 - That ere through age or woe I shed my wings I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings: — But thou hast little need. There is a Book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright — There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
Seite 16 - Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss ; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes.
Seite 255 - 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.
Seite 283 - He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and though poor perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His t...
Seite 46 - Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.
Seite 41 - ... The calm retreat, the -silent shade, With prayer and praise agree, And seem by thy sweet bounty made For those who follow thee.
Seite 41 - 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.