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Side 215 - Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends , — do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.
Side 88 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair: thyself how wondrous then, Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Side 215 - I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, I start at the sound of my own. The beasts, that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.
Side 279 - How many drink the cup Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty. How many shake With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ; Whence, tumbling headlong from the height of life, They furnish matter for the tragic Muse.
Side 164 - tis shown ye there ! Look yonder at that cloud, which through the sky Sailing alone, doth cross in her career The rolling moon ! I watched it as it came, And deemed the deep opaque would blot her beams ; But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes The orb with richer beauties than her own, Then passing, leaves her in her light serene.
Side 302 - So God loved the world, that he gave his only -begotten Son, to the end that all that believe in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Side 243 - O'erwearied nature sinks. The scorching Sun, As pitiless as proud Prosperity, Darts on him his full beams : gasping he lies Arraigning with his looks the patient skies, While that inhuman trader lifts on high The mangling scourge.
Side 164 - tis shown ye there ! Look yonder at that cloud, which, through the sky Sailing alone, doth cross, in her career, The rolling Moon ! I...