Memoir of the Rev. Francis Hodgson: B. D., Scholar, Poet, and Divine, Том 2

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Сторінка 91 - There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in the ground...
Сторінка 274 - Come to me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Сторінка 4 - Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou — who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
Сторінка 151 - God has granted grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, and force the way; And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
Сторінка 150 - Within this awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries. Oh ! happiest they of human race, To whom our God has given grace, To hear, to read, to fear, to pray, To lift the latch, and force' the way ; But better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
Сторінка 79 - The pity which the poet is to labour for is for the criminal. The terror is likewise in the punishment of the said criminal, who, if he be represented too great an offender, will not be pitied ; if altogether innocent his punishment will be unjust.
Сторінка 17 - I can discern no other. He has every outward blessing this world can bestow. I trust that the Almighty will be graciously pleased to grant him those inward feelings of peace and calm which are now unfortunately wanting. This is a subject which I cannot dwell upon, but in which I feel and have felt all you express. I think Lady B. very judiciously abstains from pressing the consideration of it upon him at the present moment. In short, the more I see of her the more I love and esteem her, and feel...
Сторінка 16 - I am sorry to say his nerves and spirits are very far from what I wish them, but don't speak of this to him on any account. I think the uncomfortable state of his affairs is the cause; at least, I can discern no other. He has every outward blessing this world can bestow.
Сторінка 50 - Your kind letter, which travelled a little in pursuit of me, began with the very sentence I have been thinking of writing you for an age at least ! It appeared to me very long since I had heard of or from you, so I was for ever intending and wishing to write, but I had so little to say on what is most interesting to you, poor B.'s subject. He was nine long months silent to me, and you know that in spite of all one's reason one must feel such a silence very much. However, he has written at last, making...
Сторінка 79 - The pity which the poet is to labour for, is for the criminal, not for those or him whom he has murdered, or who have been the occasion of the tragedy. The...

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