#EnglishWriters
When a bar of pure silver or ingot… Is sent to be flatted or wrought i… It is pass’d between cylinders oft… In an engine of utmost mechanical… Thus tortured and squeezed, at las…
(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.
Dear President, whose art sublime Gives perpetuity to time, And bids transactions of a day, That fleeting hours would waft awa… To dark futurity, survive,
Did Cytherea to the skies From this pellucid lymph arise? Or was it Cytherea’s touch, When bathing here, that made it su…
Sleep at last has fled these eyes, Nor do I regret his flight, More alert my spirits rise, And my heart is free and light. Nature silent all around,
This is the feast of heavenly wine… And God invites to sup; The juices of the living Vine Were press’d to fill the cup. Oh! bless the Saviour, ye that ea…
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…
My song shall bless the Lord of a… My praise shall climb to His abod… Thee, Saviour, by that name I cal… The great Supreme, the mighty God… Without beginning or decline,
There is a book, which we may call (Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small; The ladies thumb it much. Words none, things numerous it con…
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…
Holy Lord God! I love Thy truth, Nor dare Thy least commandment sl… Yet pierced by sin the serpent’s t… I mourn the anguish of the bite. But though the poison lurks within…
Though nature weigh our talents, a… To every man his modicum of sense, And Conversation in its better pa… May be esteem’d a gift, and not an… Yet much depends, as in the tiller…
“Me too, perchance, in future days… The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. But I, or e’er that season come,
Rich, thou hadst many lovers—poor,… So surely want extinguishes the fl… And she who call’d thee once her p… And her Adonis, now inquires thy… Where wast thou born, Socicrates,…
Come, ponder well, for ’tis no jes… To laugh it would be wrong; The troubles of a worthy priest The burden of my song. This priest he merry is and blithe