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Página 122 - Once, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man — and who was he ? Mortal, howe'er thy lot be cast, That man resembled thee.
Página 59 - Whate'er thy lot — whoe'er thou be, Confess thy folly, — kiss the rod; And in thy chastening sorrows see The hand of God. "A bruised reed He will not break, — Afflictions all his children feel: He wounds them for his mercy's sake, • He wounds to heal.
Página 123 - The changing spirits' rise and fall, We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all. He suffered, — but his pangs are o'er ; Enjoyed,— but his delights are fled ; Had friends, — his friends are now no more ; And foes, — his foes are dead. He...
Página 55 - The soul, of origin divine, God's glorious image freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day ! The sun is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The soul, immortal as its Sire, SHALL NEVER DIE!
Página 56 - I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath the soil, — To slumber in that dreamless bed, From all my toil.
Página 137 - Adam, loosen'd from the encumbering earth, Waked by the breath of God to instant birth, With sweeter, wilder wonder gazed around, When life within, and light without he found; When all creation rushing o'er his soul, He seem'd to live and breathe throughout the whole.
Página 154 - THERE is a land of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue...
Página 108 - THERE is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on...
Página 153 - Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ! In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? " Art thou a man — a patriot ? look around, O thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home.
Página 56 - Nor leave one wretched trace behind Resembling me. Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear; My pulse, — my brain runs wild, — I rave: Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear? "I am the Grave ! "The Grave, that never spake before, Hath found at length a tongue to chide : 0 listen!

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