That thou mayst injure no man, dov… And serpent-like, that none may in…

When Hagar found the bottle spent And wept o’er Ishmael, A message from the Lord was sent To guide her to a well. Should not Elijah’s cake and crus…

Thy country, Wilberforce, with ju… Hears thee, by cruel men and impio… Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th’… From exile, public sale, and slav’… Friend of the poor, the wrong’d, t…

(Proverbs, VIII. 22-31) “Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills; Before he fill’d the fountains That feed the running rills;

Trust me the meed of praise, dealt… From the nice scale of judgement,… Than does the lavish and o’erbeari… Of profuse courtesy. Not all the… Of India’s richest soil at random…

Believe it or not, as you choose, The doctrine is certainly true, That the future is known to the M… And poets are oracles too. I did but express a desire,

Hair, wax, rouge, honey, teeth you… A multifarious store! A mask at once would all supply Nor would it cost you more.

By whom was David taught To aim the deadly blow, When he Goliath fought, And laid the Gittite low? Nor sword nor spear the stripling…

(Exodus, XV.26) Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are, Waiting to feel Thy touch: Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair And, Saviour, we are such.

How bless’d Thy creature is, O G… When with a single eye, He views the lustre of Thy Word, The dayspring from on high! Through all the storms that veil t…

There is a fountain filled with bl… And sinners plunged beneath that f… Lose all their guilty stains, lose… And sinners plunged beneath that f… The dying thief rejoiced to see th…

Austin, accept a grateful verse fr… The poet’s treasure, no inglorious… Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous… Pleasing requital in my verse may… Verse oft has dashed the scythe of…

Breathe from the gentle south, O… And cheer me from the north; Blow on the treasures of thy word, And call the spices forth! I wish, Thou knowest, to be resig…

Ye Nymphs of Himera (for ye have… Erewhile for Daphnis and for Hyla… And over Bion’s long-lamented bie… The fruitless meed of many a sacre… Now, through the villas laved by…

The lover, in melodious verses, His singular distress rehearses; Still closing with a rueful cry, ‘Was ever such a wretch as I!’ Yes! thousands have endured before