The Works of George Herbert: In Prose and Verse

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G. Routledge and Company, 1865 - Всего страниц: 466
 

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Стр. 85 - 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.
Стр. 188 - DISCIPLINE Throw away Thy rod, Throw away Thy wrath; 0 my God, Take the gentle path! For my heart's desire Unto Thine is bent: 1 aspire To a full consent. 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.
Стр. 70 - The indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a friend, and with his blood ; The couch of time ; care's balm and bay ; The week were dark, but for thy light. Thy torch doth show the way.
Стр. 92 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Стр. 127 - I did ; — and, going, did a rainbow note : Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peace's coat : I will search out the matter. But while I look'd the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The crown imperial. " Sure," said I, " Peace at the root must dwell.
Стр. 159 - Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load.
Стр. 159 - Thy rope of sands, Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears.
Стр. 40 - Her household to me, and I should be just. Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek ; In weakness must be stout. Well, I will change the service, and go seek Some other Master out. Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot, Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.
Стр. 173 - The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivelled heart Could have recovered greenness?
Стр. 71 - Christ hath took in this piece of ground, And made a garden there for those Who want herbs for their wound.

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