The Task: A Poem in Six Books

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Bennett and Walton, no. 31, Market-street, J. Rakestraw, printer, 1811 - 212 sider
 

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Side 47 - There stands the messenger of truth: there stands The legate of the skies! — His theme divine, His office sacred, his credentials clear. By him the violated law speaks out Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
Side 50 - Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too ; affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.
Side 36 - Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free, They touch our country and their shackles fall.
Side 10 - Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of Ocean on his winding shore...
Side 35 - There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, It does not feel for man ; the natural bond Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
Side 200 - One song employs all nations; and all cry, ' Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!' The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round.
Side 43 - To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire Upon thy foes, was never meant my task...
Side 201 - Praise is in all her gates ; upon her walls, And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Kneels with the native of the farthest West ; And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, And worships.
Side 137 - Then shakes his powdered coat, and barks for joy. Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught But now and then with pressure of his thumb T...
Side 108 - No powder'd pert proficient in the art Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors Till the street rings. No stationary steeds Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound, The silent circle fan themselves and quake. But here the needle plies its busy task, The pattern grows, the well-depicted...

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