The River Dove: With Some Quiet Thoughts on the Happy Practice of Angling

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William Pickering, 1847 - 296 страници

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Страница 98 - And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, as a besieged city.
Страница 286 - Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the evensong; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. » We have short time to stay as you; We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or anything. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.
Страница 121 - Dear solitude, the soul's best friend, That man acquainted with himself dost make, And all his Maker's wonders to intend : With thee I here converse at will, And would be glad to do so still, For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake.
Страница 227 - Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown ; Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
Страница 210 - O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with sapphires. And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones.
Страница 285 - Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon : As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ! As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again.
Страница 197 - I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast, Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each bill, let music shrill Give my fair love good morrow. Blackbird and thrush, in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, You pretty elves, amongst yourselves, Sing my fair love good morrow.
Страница 148 - Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepteth thy works.
Страница 209 - Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you ; Make bread of it : and that repose And peace, which every where With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there.
Страница 209 - I met a reverend good old man : Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began ; There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold.

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