The Works of George Herbert: PoetryW. Pickering, 1846 |
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aftra againſt alſo atque Becauſe beſt bleffed blood breaſt Church cloſe croſs dear death decus defire delight deſtroy doth duft duſt e'en earth eyes fame fear feek fhall fhow thyself fide figh fince fing firſt fleſh fome forrow foul ftill fuch fure fweet glory grace grief hæc hand hath heart heaven Herbert himſelf holy houſe itſelf laſt leaſt lefs live loft Lord malè meaſure mihi moſt mufic muſt myſelf nunc paſs pleaſe pleaſure pofy poor preſent quæ raiſe reft reſt reſtore ſay ſee ſeek ſerve ſhall ſhe ſhine ſhould ſhow ſky ſmall ſpeak ſphere ſpirit ſpring ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtay ſtill ſtone ſtore ſtory ſtraight ſtrange ſtrength ſweet taſte tears thee themſelves theſe thine things thoſe thou art thou didst thou doft thy love thy praiſe tibi treaſure unto uſe verſe whofe whoſe wilt wind
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Сторінка 66 - delight, Writ by a friend, and with his blood; The couch of time ; care's balm and bay ; The week were dark, but for thy light: The other days and thou Make up one man; whofe face thou art, Knocking at heaven with thy brow : The
Сторінка 67 - And hollow room with vanities. They are the fruitful beds and borders In God's rich garden : that is bare Which parts their ranks and orders. The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's firing, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King. On Sunday Heaven's gate
Сторінка 90 - to the flowers, and they By noon moft cunningly did fteal away, And wither'd in my hand. My hand was next to them, and then my heart ; I took, without more thinking, in good part Time's gentle admonition; Who did fo fweetly death's fad tafte convey, Making my mind to fmell my fatal day,
Сторінка 195 - Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And thy book alone. Though I fail, I weep : Though I halt in pace, Then let wrath remove; Love will do the deed: For with love Stony hearts will bleed. Love is fwift of foot; Love's a man of war, And can
Сторінка 87 - Each thing is full of duty : Waters united are our navigation ; Diftinguifhed, our habitation; Below, our drink ; above, our meat: Both are our cleanlinefs. Hath one fuch beauty ? Then how are all things neat! More Servants wait on Man, Than he'll take notice of: in every path
Сторінка 9 - the fame. A HEART alone Is fuch a ftone, As nothing but Thy power doth cut. Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame, To praife thy name : That, if I chance to hold my peace, Thefe ftones to praife thee may not ceafe. O let thy blefled SACRIFICE be mine,
Сторінка 164 - did dry it: there was corn, Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only loft to me ? Have I no bays to crown it ? No flowers, no garlands gay ? all blafted ? All wafted? Not fo, my heart: but there is fruit,
Сторінка 130 - That virtue lies therein ; A fecret virtue, bringing peace and mirth By flight of fin. Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you ; Make bread of it : and that repofe And peace, which every where With fo much earneftnefs you do purfue Is only there.
Сторінка 110 - merry world did on a day With his train-bands and mates agree To meet together, where I lay, And all in fport to jeer at me. Firft, Beauty crept into a Rofe ; Which when I pluckt not, Sir, faid me, Tell me, I pray, whofe hands are thofe ? But thou
Сторінка 179 - heart Could have recover'd greennefs ? It was gone Quite under ground; as flowers depart To fee their Mother-root, when they have blown ; Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep houfe unknown. Thefe are thy wonders, Lord of power, Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an hour; Making a chiming of a