#EnglishWriters
This evening, Delia, you and I, Have managed most delightfully, For with a frown we parted; Having contrived some trifle that We both may be much troubled at,
God gives his mercies to be spent; Your hoard will do your soul no go… Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world’s esteem is but a bribe,
God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the se… And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines
Oh that those lips had language!… With me but roughly since I heard… Those lips are thine– thy own swee… The same that oft in childhood sol… Voice only fails, else, how distin…
Madam,—A stranger’s purpose in th… Is to congratulate and not to prai… To give the creature the Creator’… Were sin in me, and an offence to… From man to man, or e’en to woman…
There is a bird who, by his coat And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow; A great frequenter of the church, Where, bishop-like, he finds a per…
(Phillipians, IV.11) Fierce passions discompose the min… As tempests vex the sea, But calm, content and peace we fin… When, Lord, we turn to Thee.
Mary! I want a lyre with other st… Such aid from heaven as some have… An eloquence scarce given to morta… And undebased by praise of meaner… That ere through age or woe I she…
Lord, who hast suffer’d all for me… My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee… Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush;
Love is the Lord whom I obey, Whose will transported I perform; The centre of my rest, my stay, Love’s all in all to me, myself a… For uncreated charms I burn,
Night! how I love thy silent shad… My spirits they compose; The bliss of heaven my soul pervad… In spite of all my woes. While sleep instils her poppy dews
There is a fountain fill’d with bl… Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that… Lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoiced to see
Grace, triumphant in the throne, Scorns a rival, reigns alone; Come and bow beneath her sway; Cast your idol works away! Works of man, when made his plea,
These verses also to thy praise th… Oh Manso! happy in that theme des… For, Gallus and Maecenas gone, th… None such besides, or whom they lo… And, if my verse may give the meed…
I sing of a journey to Clifton, We would have perform’d if we coul… Without cart or barrow to lift on Poor Mary and me through the mud; Slee, sla, slud,
