Sacred poetry of the seventeenth century: including the whole of Giles Fletcher's Christ's victory and triumph; with copious selections from Spenser, Davies, Sandys [and others] With an introductory essay and critical remarks

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Сторінка 328 - I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.
Сторінка 253 - SWEET day ! so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, 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.
Сторінка 318 - Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears (If ye have power to touch our senses so), And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Сторінка 327 - O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
Сторінка 317 - Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling : She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.
Сторінка 319 - Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Thron'd in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
Сторінка 327 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones...
Сторінка 326 - Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arrived so near ; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Сторінка 315 - It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to Him Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun her lusty paramour.
Сторінка 180 - Like to the falling of a star; Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue; Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood; Or bubbles which on water stood; Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to night. The wind blows out; the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past; and man forgot.

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