Miscellanies, Moral and Instructive, in Prose and VersePrinted: London, Reprinted by J. Phillips, 1787 - Всего страниц: 198 |
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afflictions beauty becauſe beft beſt bleffings bleft blifs breaſt charms Chriftian confcience courfe death defire divine earth eternal ev'ry facred fafe fame fcenes fear feek feems fenfe fhade fhall fhew fhine fhould figh filent fincere firft fkies fleep fmiles foft fome foon forrow foul fpirit fpring ftate ftill fuch fuffer fure fweet give glory grace happineſs happy hath heart Heav'n himſelf honour hope human humble increaſe itſelf juft labour laft lefs live loft Lord mercy mifery mind moft moſt muft muſt nature never o'er obferve ourſelves paffions pain peace perfon pleafing pleaſe pleaſure poffefs pow'r praiſe prefent pride purpoſe reafon refign reft religion rich rife ſcene ſhall ſkies ſky ſpeak ſtate thee thefe themſelves theſe thine things thofe thoſe thou thought thro uſeful virtue whofe whoſe wife wiſdom wiſh youth
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Стр. 170 - 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. 22 - Has made my cup run o'er, And in a kind and faithful friend Has doubled all my store.
Стр. 141 - The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heav'n.
Стр. 169 - Our portion is not large, indeed ; But then how little do we need ! For nature's calls are few : In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do.
Стр. 51 - O thou bounteous giver of all good, Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.
Стр. 158 - Then see the sorrows of my heart, Ere yet it be too late ; And hear my Saviour's dying groans, To give those sorrows weight. VI. For never shall my soul despair Her pardon to procure, Who knows thine only Son has died To make her pardon sure.
Стр. 168 - If solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies; And they are fools who roam : The world has nothing to bestow ; From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut, our home.
Стр. 120 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned.
Стр. 191 - Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind: His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or Milky Way: Yet simple Nature to his hope has given.
Стр. 157 - IT is of the last importance to season the passions of a child with devotion, which seldom dies in a mind that has received an early tincture of it. Though it may seem extinguished for a while by the cares of the world, the heats of youth, or the allurements of vice, it generally breaks out and discovers itself again as soon as discretion, consideration, age, or misfortunes have brought the man to himself. The fire may be covered and overlaid, but cannot be entirely quenched and smothered.