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Стр. 174 - Lives through all life, extends through all extent; Spreads undivided, operates unspent! Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.
Стр. 124 - Thou preparedst room before it, And didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills were covered with the shadow of it, And the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. She sent out her boughs unto the sea, And her branches unto the river.
Стр. 191 - In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God : he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him even into his ears. Then the earth shook and trembled ; the foundations also of the hills moved and were shaken, because he was wroth.
Стр. 171 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Стр. 51 - The lip of truth shall be established for ever: but a lying tongue is but for a moment.
Стр. 59 - The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.
Стр. 171 - Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Стр. 160 - Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding shore...
Стр. 137 - Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.