The temple, sacred poems and private ejaculations. [With] The synagogue

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Página 189 - I, the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah, my dear ! I cannot look on thee.' Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, 'Who made the eyes but I ?' 'Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve.
Página 149 - Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands, 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.
Página 27 - I will labour to make it honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and all my poor abilities, to advance the glory of that God that gave them ; knowing that I can never do too much for him that hath done so much for me as to make me a Christian. And I will labour to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in the eyes of all men, and by following the merciful and meek example of my dear Jesus.
Página 179 - 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.
Página 70 - Thou art a day of mirth : And where the week-days trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth : O let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven, Till that we both, being toss'd from earth, Fly hand in hand to heaven ! AVARICE.
Página 82 - 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.
Página 69 - The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King. On Sunday Heaven's gate stands ope Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope.
Página 42 - Now I am here ; what thou wilt do with me, None of my books will show. I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree ; For sure then I should grow To fruit, or shade ; at least some bird would trust Her household to me, and I should be just.
Página 116 - HOPE. I GAVE to Hope a Watch of mine : but he An Anchor gave to me.
Página 120 - Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you ; Make bread of it : and that repose And peace, which every where With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there.

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