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…

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…

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…

Oh fond attempt to give a deathles… To names ignoble, born to be forgo… In vain recorded in historic page, They court the notice of a future… Those twinkling tiny lustres of th…

Oh how I love Thy holy Word, Thy gracious covenant, O Lord! It guides me in the peaceful way; I think upon it all the day. What are the mines of shining weal…

Traveller, regret not me; for thou… Just cause of sorrow none in my de… Who, dying, children’s children le… And with one wife lived many a yea… Three virtuous youths espoused my…

My lids with grief were tumid yet, And still my sullied cheek was wet With briny dews profusely shed For venerable Winton dead, When Fame, whose tales of saddest…

Apelles, hearing that his boy Had just expired—his only joy! Although the sight with anguish to… Bade place his dear remains before… He seized his brush, his colours s…

’Twas a long journey lay before us… When I and honest Heliodorus, Who far in point of rhetoric Surpasses every living Greek, Each leaving our respective home

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

Hic etiam jacet, Qui totum novennium vixit, Puss. Siste paulisper, Qui præteriturus es,

Long plunged in sorrow, I resign My soul to that dear hand of thine… Without reserve or fear; That hand shall wipe my streaming… Or into smiles of glad surprise

Mortals! around your destined head… Thick fly the shafts of death, And lo! the savage spoiler spreads A thousand toils beneath. In vain we trifle with our fate,

These are not dew-drops, these are… And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand

Where Humber pours his rich comme… There dwelt a wretch, who breathed… In subterraneous caves his life he… Black as the mine, in which he wro… When on a day, emerging from the d…