Sacred Classics, Or, Cabinet Library of Divinity, Volume 26

Voorkant
Richard Cattermole, Henry Stebbing
J. Hatchard, 1836
 

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Pagina 58 - DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ; For, those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me: From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must
Pagina 318 - O holy hope, and high humility, High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have show'd them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just, Shining nowhere but in the dark, What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust; Could man outlook that mark! He that hath found some fledged
Pagina 318 - know And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams, Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. If a star were confined into a tomb, Her captive flame must needs burn there; But when the hand that lock'd her up gave room She'd shine through all the sphere.
Pagina 313 - me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the judgment is reveal'd, And that open'd which was seal'd, When to Thee I have appeal'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Pagina 319 - and fill My perspective, still, as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill, Where I shall need no glass. THE SEARCH. Tis now clear day: I see a rose Bud in the bright east, and disclose The pilgrim-sun ; all night have I Spent in a roving ecstasy To find my Saviour; I have been As far as
Pagina 15 - TIMES GO BY TURNS. THE lopped tree in time may grow again; Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The dryest soil suck in some moistening shower: Times go by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.
Pagina 325 - He is thy gracious friend, And, O my soul, awake ! Did in pure love descend To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of peace, The rose that cannot
Pagina 78 - the eternal root Of true love, I may know. Nor thou nor thy religion dost control, The amorousness of an harmonious soul; But thou wouldst have that love thyself: as thou Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now ; Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou free My soul: whoever gives, takes liberty
Pagina 332 - Churches and altars fed him; perjuries Were gnats and flies; It rained about him blood and tears, but he Drank them as free. The fearful miser on a heap of rust Sate pining all his life there—did scarce trust His own hands with the dust; Yet would not place one piece above, but
Pagina 18 - shroud true honour brings, My poor estate is rich. My conscience is my crown, Contented thoughts, my rest; My heart is happy in itself, My bliss is in my breast. Enough I reckon wealth, A mean the surest lot; That lies too high for base contempt, Too low for envy's shot

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