The British Poets

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Little, Brown & Company, 1865
 

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Стр. xxxv - THOU, whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure : A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies, And turn delight into a Sacrifice.
Стр. 182 - I no bays to crown it ? No flowers, no garlands gay ? All blasted ? All wasted ? Not so, my heart ; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures ; leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands. Which...
Стр. 126 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? " But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me." Then money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in music you had skill.
Стр. 222 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything, To do it as for Thee...
Стр. 99 - My stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live, And grumble oft that they have more in me Than he that curbs them, being but one to five— Yet I love thee.
Стр. 101 - MY God, I heard this day, That none doth build a stately habitation But he that means to dwell therein. What house more stately hath there been, Or can be, than is Man ? to whose creation All things are in decay.
Стр. 40 - I GOT me flowers to straw Thy way; I got me boughs off many a tree: But Thou wast up by break of day, And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee. The sun arising in the east, Though he give light, and th' east perfume; If they should offer to contest With Thy arising, they presume.
Стр. 216 - Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And thy book alone. Though I fail, I weep : Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace. Then let wrath remove ; Love will do the deed : For with love Stony hearts will bleed. Love is swift of foot ; Love's a man of war, And can shoot, And can hit from far.
Стр. 83 - The brightness of that day We sullied by our foul offence : Wherefore that robe we cast away, Having a new at his expense, Whose drops of blood paid the full price, That was required to make us gay, And fit for Paradise. Thou art a day of mirth : And where the week-days trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth...
Стр. 18 - Sum up at night what thou hast done by day ; And in the morning, what thou hast to do. Dress and undress thy soul ; mark the decay And growth of it. If, with thy watch, that too Be down, then wind up both. Since we shall be Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.

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