The Poetical Works of George Herbert: With a Memoir

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J.R. Osgood & Company, 1871 - Всего страниц: 308

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Стр. 184 - 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...
Стр. 242 - Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same, Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name? Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse?
Стр. 19 - Judge not the preacher ; for he is thy judge : If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. \ The worst speak something good: if all want sense, God takes a text, and preacheth patience.
Стр. xxiii - ... betwixt God and my soul, before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my Master : in whose service I have now found perfect freedom. Desire him to read it; and then, if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul : let it be made public ; if not, let him burn it); for I and it are less than the least of God's mercies.
Стр. 158 - Poore heart, lament ; For since thy God refuseth still, There is some rub, some discontent, Which cools his will. Thy Father could Quickly effect what thou dost move, For he is Power; and sure he would, For he is Love. Go search this thing, Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book. If thou hadst lost a glove or ring, Wouldst thou not look ? What do I see Written above there ? Yesterday I did behave me carelessly When I did pray.
Стр. 76 - My God, a verse is not a crown, No point of honour, or gay suit, No hawk, or banquet, or renown, Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute. It cannot vault, or dance, or play, It never was in France or Spain, Nor can it entertain the day With a great stable or demain.
Стр. xxi - Lord, forsake me not now my strength faileth me: but grant me mercy for the merits of my Jesus. And now Lord, Lord, now receive my soul.
Стр. 132 - Any thought of waving. But when all my care and pains Cannot give the name of gains To thy wretch so full of stains ; What delight or hope remains ? " What (child), is the balance thine ? Thine the poise and measure ? If I say thou shalt be mine...
Стр. 224 - A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine : Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws, Makes that and the action fine.
Стр. 243 - Roses and lilies speak thee ; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse. Why should I women's eyes for chrystal take ? Such poor invention burns in their low mind Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow.

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