The Complaint: Or, Night-thoughts on Life, Death and Immortality. To which is Added, a Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job

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J. and F. Rivington, 1773 - 320 pages
 

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Page 3 - At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Page 3 - Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears The palm, ' That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born.' All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel : and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least, their own ; their future selves applaud How excellent that life they ne'er will lead.
Page 3 - Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread : But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close; where past the shaft no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains, The parted wave no furrow from the keel, So dies in human hearts the thought of death : E'en with the tender tear which Nature sheds O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
Page 11 - Godhead streaming through a thousand worlds ; Not on those terms, from the great days of Heaven, From old Eternity's mysterious orb, Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies ; The skies, which watch him in his new abode, Measuring his motions by revolving spheres; That horologe machinery divine.
Page 59 - ... ?—Thou, my all! My theme, my inspiration, and my crown ! My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world ! My light in darkness! and my life in death ! My boast through time!
Page 16 - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven ; And how they might have borne more welcome news.
Page 43 - These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, The terrors of the living, not the dead. Imagination's fool, and Error's wretch, Man makes a death which Nature never made : Then on the point of his own fancy falls, And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
Page 34 - Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, To damp our brainless ardours, and abate That glare of life which often blinds the wise. Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth Our rugged pass to death ; to break those bars Of terror and abhorrence Nature throws Cross our obstructed way, and thus to make Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm.
Page 6 - Youth is not rich in time ; it may be poor ; Part with it as with money, sparing ; pay No moment, but in purchase of its worth ; And what its worth ask death-beds ; they can tell.

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