The Poetical Works of Armstrong, Dyer, and Green

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Стр. 87 - For us, the winds do blow, The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow ; Nothing we see, but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure; The whole is either our cupboard of food, Or cabinet of pleasure.
Стр. 167 - THE FLOWER. How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are Thy returns ! e'en as the flowers in spring , To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
Стр. 181 - A servant with this clause makes drudgery divine; who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, makes that and the action fine.
Стр. 290 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd...
Стр. 103 - Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our...
Стр. 290 - Ferrar, and tell him he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed 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...
Стр. 202 - But transient is the Smile of Fate ! A little Rule, a little Sway, A Sun-beam in a "Winter's day Is all the Proud and Mighty have, Between the Cradle and the Grave.
Стр. 75 - THE shepherds sing, and shall I silent be ? My God, no hymn for thee ? My soul's a shepherd too ; a flock it feeds Of thoughts, and words, and deeds.
Стр. 32 - I him sought : They told me there, that he was lately gone About some land, which he had dearly bought Long since on earth, to take possession. I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts ; In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts : At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of thieves and murderers : there I him espied, Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.
Стр. 186 - I the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I ? Truth, Lord, but I have marred them : let my shame Go where it doth deserve.

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