THE LITERY WOMEN OF ENGLAND.

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Seite 314 - THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. •• Sweet is the scene when virtue dies ! When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam the closing eyes. How gently heaves the expiring breast! So fades a summer cloud away ; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er ; So gently shuts the eye of day ; So dies a wave along the shore. Triumphant
Seite 500 - now ! E'en while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath I Soul to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.
Seite 131 - To make thyself a welcome inmate there ; While yet a young probationer, And candidate of heav'n. II. If by traduction came thy mind, Our wonder is the less to find A soul so charming from a stock so good : Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood ; So wert thou born into a tuneful strain, An early rich and
Seite 131 - to more superiour bliss, Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss. Whatever happy region is thy place. Cease thy celestial song a little space ; Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine. Since heav'n's eternal year is thine : Hear, then, a mortal muse thy praise rehearse In no ignoble verse ; But such as
Seite 47 - Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if
Seite 131 - eternal year is thine : Hear, then, a mortal muse thy praise rehearse In no ignoble verse ; But such as thine own voice did practise here, When thy first fruits of poesy were giv'n To make thyself a welcome inmate there ; While yet a young probationer, And candidate of heav'n.
Seite 499 - Towards spire and tower, midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day ! The halls from old heroic ages grey Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates iu a happy flow, Like a freed vernal stream. I
Seite 499 - a happy flow, Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread With them those pathways—to the feverish bed Of sickness bound : yet, oh my God! I bless Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness ! April
Seite 131 - mind! Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore. Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find Than was the beauteous frame she left behind : Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind. III. May we presume to say that at thy birth New joy was sprung in heav'n as well as
Seite 318 - come back for to marry thee. Oh, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say, We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away, I wish I were dead, but I'm no like to dee, And why do I live to say, Wae's me! I gang like a

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