A father's recollections of three pious young ladies; his sermons at their funeral; and a poem. By a clergyman [S. Piggott].


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Seite 136 - These as they change, Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is fall of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beanty walks, thy tenderness and love. Then comes thy glory in the Summer mouths With light and heat refulgent.
Seite 192 - and wint'ry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the holly tree. So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng; So would I seem amid the young and gay More grave than they; That in my age as cheerful I might be, As the green winter of the holly tree. We
Seite 84 - iv, 1, 2. ." Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the Devil. And when he had fasted forty days and forty nights he was afterward an huugred.
Seite 6 - midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased. Yet, O Lord God, most holy!— O Lord, most
Seite 44 - There's not in this wide world a valley so sweet As that vale, in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that
Seite 142 - I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith, I have finished my course; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge will give me at that day!
Seite 99 - o'er the grave. The saints who now in Jesus Sleep His own almighty power shall keep, Till dawns the bright illustrious day When death itself shall die away; How loud shall our glad voices sing, When Christ his risen saints shall bring From beds of dust and silent clay To realms of everlasting day.
Seite 121 - along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head ; And show that love, however vain, Nor
Seite 57 - I praise the Frenchman, his remark was shrewdHow sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper—solitude is sweet. Vet neither these delights, nor
Seite 219 - the pleasures of the present day ! Live while you lire ! the sacred Preacher cries. And give to God each moment as it flics. Lord ! in my view let

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