The Complaint; Or, Night Thoughts

F.C. and J. Rivington; Scatcherd and Letterman; J. Cuthell; J. Walker; Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown; J. Carpenter; W. Otridge; Cadell and Davies; Lackington, Allen, and Company; and J. Mawman., 1813 - 352 páginas
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Página 7 - Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes : Swift*, on his downy pinion flies from woe, • And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Página 20 - By Nature's law, what may be, may be now ; There 's no prerogative in human hours. In human hearts what bolder thought can rise, Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn ? Where is to-morrow ? In another world. For numbers this is certain ; the reverse Is sure to none ; and yet on this perhaps...
Página 9 - 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? With the years beyond the flood.
Página 121 - Each moment on the former shuts the grave. While man is growing, life is in decrease, And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste that instant they take fire.
Página 12 - Yon ambient .azure shell, and spring to life, The life of gods — O transport ! and of man. Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thoughts ; Inters celestial hopes without one sigh : Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, Here pinions all his wishes : wing'd by heaven To fly at infinite, and reach it there, Where seraphs gather immortality, On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God.
Página 10 - What can preserve my life? or what destroy? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there.
Página 57 - Smitten friends Are angels sent on errands full of love ; For us they languish, and for us they die : And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain ? Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades, Which wait the revolution in our hearts? Shall we disdain their silent, soft, address, Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer ? Senseless as herds that graze their hallo w'd graves, Tread under foot their agonies and groans, Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths...
Página 14 - More mortal than the common births of Fate. Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root; each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss.
Página 44 - The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Is privileged beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
Página 9 - Lead it through various scenes of life and death ; And from each scene the noblest truths inspire. Nor less inspire my conduct, than my song...

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