A Book for Spare Moments: The Urn and the PageJames Hogg, 1856 - 162 Seiten |
Im Buch
Ergebnisse 1-5 von 15
Seite 7
... head ( as fit for warlike stores ) A gilt engraven morion he did wear , That as some did him love , so others did him fear . SUMMER . Spenser . Then came the jolly Summer , being dight In a thin silken cassock colour'd green ; That was ...
... head ( as fit for warlike stores ) A gilt engraven morion he did wear , That as some did him love , so others did him fear . SUMMER . Spenser . Then came the jolly Summer , being dight In a thin silken cassock colour'd green ; That was ...
Seite 20
... head , Depth without bottom , way without an end ; A circle with no line environed , Not comprehended , all it comprehends , Worth infinite , yet satisfies no mind Till it that infinite of the Godhead find . Sir Fulke Greville ...
... head , Depth without bottom , way without an end ; A circle with no line environed , Not comprehended , all it comprehends , Worth infinite , yet satisfies no mind Till it that infinite of the Godhead find . Sir Fulke Greville ...
Seite 33
... head , and a fire in the face , and a sword in the hand , and a fury all over ; and , therefore , can never suffer a man to be in a disposition to pray . For prayer is an action and a state of intercourse and desire exactly contrary to ...
... head , and a fire in the face , and a sword in the hand , and a fury all over ; and , therefore , can never suffer a man to be in a disposition to pray . For prayer is an action and a state of intercourse and desire exactly contrary to ...
Seite 43
... head An hearse doth hang , which doth me te'l That I , ere morning , may be dead , Though now I feel myself full well : But yet , alas ! for all this I Have little mind that I must die . The gown which I do use to wear , The knife ...
... head An hearse doth hang , which doth me te'l That I , ere morning , may be dead , Though now I feel myself full well : But yet , alas ! for all this I Have little mind that I must die . The gown which I do use to wear , The knife ...
Seite 46
... heads in the fatal sentence . There is no age of man but it hath proper to itself some posterns and the outlets for death , besides those infinite and open ports out of which myriads of men and women every day pass into the dark , and ...
... heads in the fatal sentence . There is no age of man but it hath proper to itself some posterns and the outlets for death , besides those infinite and open ports out of which myriads of men and women every day pass into the dark , and ...
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
A Book for Spare Moments: The Urn and the Page (Classic Reprint) Harvey Buckland Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2015 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
angels anger beauty behold bird Bishop blessed bliss body breath bright Christ Christianity church clouds conscience death deformity delight divine dost doth Drayton earth eternal eternal majesty eyes fair faith fear flower give glory God's grace hand happy hath hear hearers heart heaven heavenly Hee wyll Herbert Herrick holy honour hope IRRELIGION Jeremy Taylor journey's end king labour light LIP-LABOUR live lively colours Lord majesty man's memory mercy mind morning mortal nature nature's never ornainent ourselves ourselves to know pain Paraclete pleasure poor praise pray prayer preaching preter rejoice religion rich SABBATH Selden sense sermons shade Sir Philip Sydney Sir Thomas Wyatt sorrows soul Spenser spirit strong sweet Sweet day tears thee thine things Thomas Fuller Thomas Hudson thou hast thoughts tion true UNHAPPY DIVISION virtue weeping wherein wisdom wise
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 99 - Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.
Seite 120 - Yet even in the Old Testament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearselike airs as carols ; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath laboured more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities of Solomon.
Seite 47 - EVEN such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust!
Seite 118 - Implore his aid, in his decisions rest, Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best. Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires, Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will resign'd...
Seite 102 - Hark! they whisper; Angels say, Sister Spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Seite 63 - God; and still, whilo a man tells the story, the sun gets up higher, till he shows a fair face and a full light, and then he shines one whole day, under a cloud often, and sometimes weeping great and little showers, and sets quickly. So is a man's reason and his life.
Seite 99 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : ' Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown ; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice.
Seite 151 - We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ! As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing.
Seite 79 - With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him.
Seite 90 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My Music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.