Horæ lyricæ. Poems, chiefly of the lyric kind, Del 4

James Brackstone, 1743 - 299 sider

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Side 7 - God. 2 Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown, Hang on His firm decree; He sits on no precarious throne, Nor borrows leave, TO BE. 3 Chained to His throne a volume lies, With all the fates of men; With every angel's form and size, Drawn by th
Side x - Among the bushes they brayed ; Under the nettles they were gathered together. They were children of fools, Yea, children of base men : They were viler than the earth. And now am I their song, Yea, I am their byword.
Side 11 - Through all these spacious works of thine. 3 Still restless nature dies and grows, From change to change the creatures run : Thy being no succession knows, And all thy vast designs are one.
Side 119 - Then let us taste the Saviour's love ; Come, faith, and feed upon the Lord ; With glad consent our lips shall move, And sweet hosannas crown the board.
Side 181 - Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone, I could never call my own: Riches that the world bestows, She can take, and I can lose; But the treasures that are mine Lie afar beyond her line. When I view my spacious soul, And survey myself a whole, And enjoy myself alone, I'ma kingdom of my own.
Side 152 - Through all his meadows roll, He's but a wretch, with all his lands, That wears a narrow soul.
Side 77 - Now let me mount and join their song, And be an angel too ; My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue — Here's joyful work for you.
Side 4 - The riches of the fields, and honours of the woods ; Storms, that ravage o'er the deep, And bury millions in the waves ; ( Earthquakes, that in...
Side 218 - Twixt her wild passions and her will ; Haunted and hagg'd where'er she roves, By purling streams and silent groves, Or with her Furies, or her Loves. Then our own native land we hate, Too cold, too windy, or too wet ; Change the thick climate, and repair To France or Italy for air : In vain we change, in vain we fly ; Go, Sylvia, mount the whirling sky, Or...
Side 14 - FATHER! how wide thy glory shines! How high thy wonders rise ! Known through the earth by thousand signs,— By thousand through the skies. 2 Those mighty orbs proclaim thy power, Their motions speak thy skill ; And on the wings of every hour, We read thy patience still.

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