Poems

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J. Hatchard, 1808 - 258 страници
 

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Страница 5 - Which neither groves nor happy valleys boast; Where other cares than those the Muse relates, And other shepherds dwell with other mates; By such examples taught, I paint the Cot, As Truth will paint it, and as Bards will not...
Страница 13 - And doth not he, the pious man, appear, He, 'passing rich with forty pounds a year?' Ah! no; a shepherd of a different stock, And far unlike him, feeds this little flock: A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task As much as God or man can fairly ask ; The rest he gives to loves and labours light, To fields the morning, and to feasts the night; None better...
Страница 213 - Pilgrim, burthen'd with thy sin, Come the way to Zion's gate, There, till Mercy let thee in, Knock and weep and watch and wait. Knock ! — He knows the sinner's cry : Weep ! — He loves the mourner's tears : Watch ! — for saving grace is nigh : Wait, — till heavenly light appears. " Hark ! it is the Bridegroom's voice ; Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest...
Страница 103 - Kept him at home in that important hour; Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect, By the strong glare of their new light, direct ;— " On hope, in mine own sober light, I gaze, " But should be blind and lose it, in your blaze." In times severe, when many a sturdy swain Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain ; Isaac their wants would soothe, his own would hide, And feel in that his comfort and his pride. At length, he found, when seventy years were run, His strength departed, and his...
Страница 102 - Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace; Truth, simple truth, was written in his face...
Страница 69 - They wish'd her well, whom yet they wish'd away. Correct in thought, she judged a servant's place Preserved a rustic beauty from disgrace; But yet on Sunday-eve, in freedom's hour, With secret joy she felt that beauty's power, When some proud bliss upon the heart would steal, That, poor or rich, a beauty still must feel.
Страница 129 - With awe, around these silent walks I tread; These are the lasting mansions of the dead:— " The dead," methinks a thousand tongues reply: " These are the tombs of such as cannot die ! " Crown'd with eternal fame, they sit sublime, " And laugh at all the little strife of time.
Страница 127 - This BOOKS can do; - nor this alone; they give New views to life, and teach us how to live; They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise, Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise: Their aid they yield to all: they never shun The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone: Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud, They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd; Nor tell to various people various things, But show to subjects what they show to kings.
Страница 14 - Up yonder' hill, behold how sadly slow The bier moves winding from the vale below; There lie the happy dead, from trouble free," / And the glad parish pays the frugal fee.
Страница 13 - With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go, He bids the gazing throng around him fly, And carries fate and physic in his eye: A potent quack, long versed in human ills, Who first insults the victim whom he kills; Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy Bench protect, And whose most tender mercy is neglect.

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