#EnglishWriters
Come, peace of mind, delightful gu… Return and make thy downy nest Once more in this sad heart: Nor riches I, nor power pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view,
Ah, how the Human Mind wearies he… With her own wand’rings, and, invo… Impenetrable, speculates amiss! Measuring, in her folly, things di… By human, laws inscrib’d on adaman…
Oh loved! but not enough—though de… Than self and its most loved enjoy… None duly loves thee, but who, nob… From sensual objects, finds his al… Glory of God! thou stranger here…
Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, While meaner things whom instinct… Are rarely known to stray. One silent eve I wandered late,
(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;
Love! if thy destined sacrifice am… Come, slay thy victim, and prepare… Plunged in thy depths of mercy, le… The death which every soul that li… I watch my hours, and see them fle…
The Saviour, what a noble flame Was kindled in his breast, When hasting to Jerusalem, He march’d before the rest. Good will to men, and zeal for Go…
They call thee rich—I deem thee p… Since, if thou darest not use thy… But savest only for thine heirs, The treasure is not thine, but the…
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,
The new-born child of gospel grace… Like some fair tree when summer’s… Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face Lifts up his blooming branch on hi… No fears he feels, he sees no foes…
To be remembered thus is fame, And in the first degree; And did the few like her the same, The press might sleep for me. So Homer, in the memory stored
Whence it is, that amazed I hear From yonder withered spray, This foremost morn of all the year… The melody of May? And why, since thousands would be…
Winter has a joy for me, While the Saviour’s charms I read… Lowly, meek, from blemish free, In the snowdrop’s pensive head. Spring returns, and brings along
Poets attempt the noblest task the… Praising the Author of all good i… And, next, commemorating Worthies… The dead in whom that good abounde… Thee, therefore, of commercial fam…
Mycilla dyes her locks, ’tis said: But ’tis a foul aspersion; She buys them black; they therefor… No subsequent immersion.