The Poetical Works of George HerbertD. Appleton, 1857 - 256 sider |
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AFFLICTION art thou beleeve blessed bloud brave breast breath Chor Christ Church crie dayes deare death delight dimme doore doth drest dust earth ev'n ev'ry eyes fall farre fear flesh flie flowers foes foul giv'n give glorie glorious grief grone grow hadst Hast thou hath heare heart heav'n holy honour joyes King let thy light liv'd live look Lord love thee lust lute mend minde mirth musick night peace pleasure poore posie praise thee runne Saviour scumme sev'rall shew shine show thy sigh sing sinne skie sonne sorrow soul starres stay stone sunne sure sweet sweet sacrifice sweetly sweetnesse tears thine things thou art thou canst thou didst thou dost thou hast thou mayst thou shalt thou wilt thoughts thy hand thy love thy praise thyself tree truth no beautie unto vertue warres wayes weep Wherefore winde wouldst
Populære avsnitt
Side 195 - Not so, my heart! But there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not.
Side 241 - I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I ? Truth, Lord, but I have marred them : let my shame Go where it doth deserve.
Side 235 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things thee to see, And what I do in any thing, To do it as for thee...
Side 55 - Whereas my birth and spirit rather took The way that takes the town, Thou didst betray me to a ling'ring book And wrap me in a gown.
Side 94 - Whom, if we were not very dull, We could not choose but look on still, Since there is no place so alone, The which he doth not fill.
Side 229 - I aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And thy book alone. Though I fail, I weep : Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace.
Side 211 - THE FLOWER. How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are Thy returns ! e'en as the flowers in spring , To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing.
Side 110 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Side 186 - KING of glory, King of peace, , I will love Thee ; And, that love may never cease, I will move Thee. Thou hast granted my request, Thou hast heard me : Thou didst note my working breast, Thou hast spared me. Wherefore with my utmost art I will sing Thee, And the cream of all my heart I will bring Thee.
Side 114 - MY God, I heard this day, That none doth build a stately habitation But he that means to dwell therein. What house more stately hath there been, Or can be, than is Man ? to whose creation All things are in decay.