#EnglishWriters
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,
Art thou some individual of a kind Long-lived by nature as the rook o… Heap treasure, then, for if thy ne… Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst… But man thou seem’st, clear theref…
(Jeremiah, XXIII.6) My God, how perfect are Thy ways! But mine polluted are; Sin twines itself about my praise, And slides into my prayer.
Why weeps the muse for England? W… In England’s case to move the mus… From side to side of her delightfu… Is she not clothed with a perpetua… Can Nature add a charm, or Art co…
It flatters and deceives thy view, This mirror of ill-polish’d ore; For, were it just, and told thee t… Thou wouldst consult it never more…
Farewell! ‘But not for ever,’ Hop… Trace but his steps and meet him i… There nothing shall renew our part… Thou shalt not wither nor I weep…
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;
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,
Poor in my youth, and in life’s la… Rich to no end, I curse my natal… Who nought enjoy’d while young, de… And nought when old enjoy’d, denie…
Jesus! where’er Thy people meet, There they behold Thy mercy seat; Where’er they seek Thee, Thou art… And every place is hallow’d ground… For Thou, within no walls confine…
Time, never wand’ring from his ann… Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, a… Bleak Winter flies, new verdure c… And earth assumes her transient yo… Dream I, or also to the Spring be…
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…
Eldest born of powers divine! Bless’d Hygeia! be it mine To enjoy what thou canst give, And henceforth with thee to live: For in power if pleasure be
‘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,
Too many, Lord, abuse Thy grace In this licentious day, And while they boast they see Thy… They turn their own away. Thy book displays a gracious light