What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Poems Divine and Moral: Many of Them Now First Published (Classic Reprint)
No preview available - 2017
Poems Divine and Moral: Many of Them Now First Published
John Bowdler, Jr.
No preview available - 2016
appear awful beams bear beauty bless blest bliss bloom bosom breast bright charms cheer dark death deep divine dread earth eternal ev'ry face fair faith fate father fear feel fire flow give glory grace grave grief hand happy hast head hear heart Heaven holy hope hour human King leave light live LORD lost mind morn mortal mourn nature never night o'er once pain peace pleasure poor pow'r praise pride PSALM raise rest rise round sacred scene shades shine sickness sigh sight silent skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit spring strength sweet tear tell thee thine thou thought thro throne tongue train trembling truth turn vain virtue voice wealth weep wings youth
Page 40 - His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Page 251 - A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Page 273 - The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order...
Page 271 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown ; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Page 351 - But gladly, as the precept were her own : And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she. My mother ! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss : Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile...
Page 274 - The primogenitive and due of birth, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand in authentic place? Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy: The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, VOL.
Page 276 - Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note.
Page 299 - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the, knell of my departed hours : Where are they?
Page 275 - Or of the eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell?
Page 153 - 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...