Did Cytherea to the skies From this pellucid lymph arise? Or was it Cytherea’s touch, When bathing here, that made it su…

Kinsman beloved, and as a son by m… When I behold this fruit of thy r… The sculptured form of my old favo… I reverence feel for him, and love… Joy too and grief. Much joy that…

O Lord, my best desire fulfil, And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort to Thy… And make Thy pleasure mine. Why whould I shrink at Thy comman…

Ancient dame, how wide and vast To a race like ours appears, Rounded to an orb at last, All thy multitude of years! We, the herd of human kind,

My former hopes are fled, My terror now begins; I feel, alas! that I am dead In trespasses and sins. Ah, whither shall I fly?

Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are, Waiting to feel Thy touch: Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair And, Saviour, we are such. Our faith is feeble, we confess,

When wit and genius meet their doo… In all devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same. O’er Murray’s loss the Muses wept…

Hear, Lord, the song of praise an… In heaven thy dwelling-place, From infants, made the public care… And taught to seek thy face! Thanks for thy word and for thy da…

The winter night now well nigh wor… The wakeful cock proclaimed approa… When Simulus, poor tenant of a fa… Of narrowest limits, heard the shr… Yawned, stretched his limbs, and a…

God of my life, to Thee I call, Afflicted at Thy feet I fall; When the great water-floods prevai… Leave not my trembling heart to fa… Friend of the friendless and the f…

How many between east and west, Disgrace their parent earth, Whose deeds constrain us to detest The day that gave them birth! Not so when Stella’s natal morn

Jesus! whose blood so freely strea… To satisfy the law’s demand; By Thee from guilt and wrath rede… Before the Father’s face I stand. To reconcile offending man,

... Thou know’st my praise of nature m… And that my raptures are not conju… To serve occasions of poetic pomp, But genuine, and art partner of th…

Here Johnson lies, a sage by all… Whom to have bred, may well make… Whose prose was eloquence, by wisd… The graceful vehicle of virtuous t… Whose verse may claim, grave, masc…

The twentieth year is well nigh pa… Since first our sky was overcast;— Ah would that this might be the la… My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow,