Horæ Salisburienses [afterw.] Sarisburienses

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Pagina 60 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Pagina 61 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th
Pagina 4 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale ; look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Pagina 199 - Had I but served God as diligently as I have served the king, He would not have given me over in my grey hairs.
Pagina 292 - He faded, and so calm and meek So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender, kind...
Pagina 124 - And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust? A soul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
Pagina 60 - tis too horrible. The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Pagina 195 - Much beautiful, and excellent, and fair Was seen beneath the sun ; but nought was seen More beautiful, or excellent, or fair, Than face of faithful friend, fairest when seen In darkest day ; and many sounds were sweet, Most ravishing, and pleasant to the ear ; But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend, Sweet always, sweetest, heard in loudest storm.
Pagina 332 - WE talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. 'Now, Matthew...
Pagina 124 - What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, Is virtue's prize: A better would you fix?

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