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Стр. 252 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall— Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing yet hath all.
Стр. 351 - ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair.
Стр. 322 - He, too, is no mean preacher: come forth into the light of things, let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, our minds and hearts to bless — spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, truth breathed by cheerfulness.
Стр. 252 - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will ; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death ; Untied unto the world by care Of public fame, or private breath ; Who envies none that chance doth raise...
Стр. 474 - Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom thou rememberest no more : and they are cut off from thy hand.
Стр. 252 - Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good: Who hath his life from rumours freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great. Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend...
Стр. 43 - From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue ; Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm ; Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.
Стр. 519 - How many times do I love thee, dear? Tell me how many thoughts there be In the atmosphere Of a new-fall'n year, Whose white and sable. hours appear The latest flake of Eternity :— So many times do I love thee, dear. How many times do I love, again...
Стр. 475 - I am afflicted and ready to die from my youth up : while I suffer thy terrors I am distracted.