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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome, I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome: 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
I love thee, Baby!
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so...
Yet, my pretty sportive friend, Little is't to such an end That I praise thy rareness! Other dogs may be thy peers Haply in these drooping ears, And this glossy fairness.
Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain, And tittering, tottering sideways he neer got straight again, He stooped to get a worm, and looked...
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater Felix! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. GRAY, 'Alcaic Fragment'.
Glory be to God for dappled things— For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
GANE is the day, and mirk’s the night, But we’ll ne’er stray for faut o’ light; Gude ale and bratdy’s stars and moon, And blue-red wine’s the risin’ sun. Chorus.—Then gudewife, count the lawin, The lawin, the lawin, Then gudewife,...
In the valley of waters we wept on the day When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey; And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay, And our hearts were so full of the land far away!
Above the russet clods the corn is seen Sprouting its spiry points of tender green, Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake, Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Sons of the Greeks, arise! The glorious hour's gone forth, And, worthy of such ties, Display who gave us birth. Sons of Greeks! let us go In arms against the foe, Till their hated blood shall flow In a river past our feet.
The Child's faith is new -- Whole -- like His Principle -- Wide -- like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes -- Never had a Doubt...
Ha barbitos de chordais Er_ota mounon aechei. - Anacreon Away with your fictions of flimsy romance, Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove; Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.
OH well done Lord E---- n! and better done R----r!
Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer? Father of Light, on thee I call!
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy, Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers, Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce, And to our high-rais'd phantasie present, That undisturbed Song of...
IF God compel thee to this destiny, To die alone, with none beside thy bed To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said And mark with tears the pulses ebb from thee,-- Pray then alone, ' O Christ, come tenderly !
sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain, And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze, And sweet is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain, 'Neath the verdant arcades of yon shadowy trees.
yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true; The love which you felt was the love of a brother, Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.
'His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani Munere!' VIRG. Dorset, the grace of courts, the Muses' pride, Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died.
My faint spirit was sitting in the light Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hind at noon For the brooks, my love.
FAREWELL, old Scotia’s bleak domains, Far dearer than the torrid plains, Where rich ananas blow! Farewell, a mother’s blessing dear! A borther’s sigh! a sister’s tear! My Jean’s heart-rending throe! Farewell, my Bess! tho’ thou’rt bereft Of my paternal care.
Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head! Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams! Sweet Sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown Sweet Sleep, angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child!
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