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Side 358 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Side 340 - Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means ; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire ; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim ; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state ; Whom they must follow ; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all...
Side 293 - Whereof the mower filleth not his hand, neither he that bindeth up the sheaves his bosom. 8 So that they who go by say not so much as, The LORD prosper you, we wish you good luck in the name of the LORD.
Side 340 - Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall to sleep without his fame, 'And leave a dead unprofitable name, Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy Warrior; this is he Whom every Man in arms should wish to be.
Side 317 - And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while : for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.
Side 12 - Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.
Side 308 - When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight...
Side 397 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Side 62 - As for me, I am a very smart youth of my years; I am not indeed grown grey so much as I am grown bald. No matter: there was more hair in the world than ever had the honour to belong to me; accordingly having found just enough to curl a little at my ears, and to intermix with a little of my own, that still hangs behind, I appear, if you see me in an afternoon, to have a very decent headdress, not easily...
Side 340 - WHO is the honest man ? He that doth still and strongly good pursue, To God, his neighbour, and himself most true ; Whom neither force nor fawning can Unpin or wrench from giving all their due. Whose honesty is not So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind Can blow away, or glittering look it blind ; Who rides his sure and even trot, While the world now rides by, now lags behind.