The young infidel. By a friend to truth

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Page 107 - Thou art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! From thee departing they are lost, and rove At random without honour, hope, or peace. From thee is all, that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve...
Page 49 - Behold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass yourselves about with sparks: walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks that ye have kindled. This shall ye have of mine hand; ye shall lie down in sorrow.
Page 44 - But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Page 107 - Philosophy baptized In the pure fountain of eternal love Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees As meant to indicate a God to man, Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own.
Page 62 - By nature free, not overruled by fate Inextricable, or strict necessity: Our voluntary service he requires, Not our necessitated; such with him Finds no acceptance, nor can find ; for how Can hearts, not free, be tried whether they serve Willing or no, who will but what the'y must By destiny, and can no other choose?
Page 107 - A loud hosanna sent from all thy works, Which he that hears it with a shout repeats, And adds his rapture to the general praise. In that blest moment, Nature, throwing wide Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile The Author of her beauties, who, retired Behind His own creation, works unseen By the impure, and hears His power denied.
Page 112 - Heart-merit wanting, mount we ne'er so high, Our height is but the gibbet of our name. A celebrated wretch when I behold, When I behold a genius bright and base, Of towering talents and terrestrial aims, Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, The glorious fragments of a soul immortal, With rubbish mixed, and glittering in the dust...
Page 122 - Bacon, the great confidant of nature, fraught with all the learning of the past, and almost prescient of the future, yet too wise not to know his weakness, and too philosophic not to feel his ignorance. I...
Page 127 - Read and revere the sacred page ; a page Where triumphs immortality ,. a page Which not the whole creation could produce ; Which not the conflagration shall destroy ; Tis printed in the mind of gods for ever, In nature's ruins not one letter lost.
Page 110 - Go thy way, weigh me the weight of the fire, or measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the day that is past.

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