Brieven van John Bowring, geschreven op eene reize door Holland, Friesland en Groningen: voorafgegaan door Iets over de Friesche letterkunde, en gevolgd door Iets over de Hollandsche taal en letterkunde; van den zelfden. Uit het Engelsch

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G.T.N. Suringar, 1830 - 369 pagina's
 

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Pagina 85 - And weeping o'er her lad. I thank thee, Source of every bliss, For every bliss I know ; I thank thee, thou didst train me so To learn thy way in this : That wishing good, and doing good, Is laboring, Lord, with thee ; That charity is gratitude ; And piety, best understood, A sweet humanity. JOHN A
Pagina 83 - There's punch so warm, and wine so bright, And sheltering roof and bread. And if a friend should pass this way, We give him flesh and fish ; And sometimes game adorns the dish, It chances as it may ; And every birth-day festival Some extra tarts appear, An extra glass of wine for all — While to the child, or great or small, We drink the happy year. Poor beggars ! all the city thro...
Pagina 83 - tis to you. Your children's birthdays come, no throng Of friends approach your door, 'Tis a long suffering, sad as long ; No fire to warm — to cheer, no song — No presents for the poor. And should not we far better be, We far more blest than they, Our winter hearth is bright and gay, Our wine cups full and free ; And we were wrought in finer mould And made of purer clay.
Pagina 83 - ... punch so warm, and wine so bright, And sheltering roof and bread. And if a friend should pass this way, We give him flesh and fish ; And sometimes game adorns the dish, It chances as it may ; And every birth-day festival Some extra tarts appear, An extra glass of wine for all — While to the child, or great or small, We drink the happy year. Poor beggars ! all the city thro' That wander, — pity knows That if it rains, or hails or snows, No difference 'tis to you.
Pagina 85 - m bound to spread, Give from my hearth a spark of fire, Drops from my cup, and feed desire With morsels of my bread. And thus I found, that, scattering round Blessings in mortal track, The riddle ceased my brains to rack, And my torn heart grew sound. The storm-winds blow both sharp and sere, The cold is bitter rude ; Come, beggar, come, our garments bear, A portion of our dwelling share, A morsel of our food. List, boye and girls ! the hour is late, There 's some one at the door; Run, little ones...
Pagina 84 - T is a long suffering, sad as long : No fire to warm, — to cheer, no song, — No presents for the poor. And should not we far better be, We far more blest than they ? Our winter hearth is bright and gay, Our...
Pagina 61 - Helaas ! helaas ! hoe vlieden onze dagen, Hoe spoed zich ieder uur met onzen luister heen ! Hoe flaauwe vreugd, hoe bittre plagen ; Hoe min vermaak, hoe veel geween...
Pagina 84 - Our wine cups full and free ; And we were wrought in finer mould And made of purer clay. God's holy eyes, that all behold, Chose for our garments gems and gold, And made them rags display. I! better ? O would 't were so, I am perplexed in sooth ; I wish, I wish you'd speak the truth.
Pagina 84 - I so favoured stand ; And he, the offspring of God's hand, A poor deserted man. And then I sit to muse ; I sit The riddle to unravel ; I strain my thoughts, I tax my wit, The less my thoughts can compass it, The more they toil and travel. And thus, and thus alone I see, When...
Pagina 69 - Eens ieders hart was vol gevoel — Maar ieders tong was stom! De maan klom stil en statig op En scheen op 't aaklig graf, Waarin het lieve, jonge paar Het laatste zuchtje gaf.

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