Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and ImmortalityB.C. Buxby, 1818 - 301 страница |
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Страница 31
... triumph there changed ; On thrones , which shall not mourn their masters Though we from earth , ethereal they that fell . Such veneration due , O man , to man . Who venerate themselves the world despise . 355 For what , gay friend , is ...
... triumph there changed ; On thrones , which shall not mourn their masters Though we from earth , ethereal they that fell . Such veneration due , O man , to man . Who venerate themselves the world despise . 355 For what , gay friend , is ...
Страница 39
... triumph , man's profoundest fall , The death - bed of the just ! is yet undrawn By mortal hand ; it merits a divine : Angels should paint it , angels ever there ; There , on a post of honour and of joy . Dare I presume , then ? but ...
... triumph , man's profoundest fall , The death - bed of the just ! is yet undrawn By mortal hand ; it merits a divine : Angels should paint it , angels ever there ; There , on a post of honour and of joy . Dare I presume , then ? but ...
Страница 55
... triumph of our mould'ring clay ; Death of the spirit infinite ! divine ! Death has no dread but what frail life imparts ; Nor life true joy but what kind death improves . 470 No bliss has life to boast , till death can NARCISSA . 55.
... triumph of our mould'ring clay ; Death of the spirit infinite ! divine ! Death has no dread but what frail life imparts ; Nor life true joy but what kind death improves . 470 No bliss has life to boast , till death can NARCISSA . 55.
Страница 57
... . This king of terrors is the prince of peace . When shall I die to vanity , pain , death ? When shall I die ? -when shall I live for ever ? C 2 532 THE COMPLAINT . NIGHT IV . -000-- THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH NARCISSA . 57.
... . This king of terrors is the prince of peace . When shall I die to vanity , pain , death ? When shall I die ? -when shall I live for ever ? C 2 532 THE COMPLAINT . NIGHT IV . -000-- THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH NARCISSA . 57.
Страница 58
Edward Young. THE COMPLAINT . NIGHT IV . -000-- THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH . Containing the only Cure for the Fear of Death ; and proper Sentiments of Heart on that inesti- mable Blessing . Inscribed to the Honourable Mr. Yorke . A MUCH ...
Edward Young. THE COMPLAINT . NIGHT IV . -000-- THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH . Containing the only Cure for the Fear of Death ; and proper Sentiments of Heart on that inesti- mable Blessing . Inscribed to the Honourable Mr. Yorke . A MUCH ...
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adore ambition angels archangels art thou beam beneath bids blest bliss blood divine boast boundless call'd canst charms creation dæmons dark death deep Deity delight divine dost dread dust E'en earth EDWARD YOUNG endless eternal ethereal ev'ry fair fate fire flame fond fool gaze give glorious glory gods grave grief groan guilt happiness heart heav'n hope hour human illustrious indulge infidels life's light live Lorenzo man's mankind midnight mind mismeasured mortal Narcissa nature nature's ne'er night nought numbers o'er Omnipotence orbs pain passion peace Philander pleasure pow'r praise pride proud reason Reason sleeps rise sacred scene sense shades shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars stings storm strange thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth virtue virtue's wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched ye stars
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Страница 11 - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the, knell of my departed hours : Where are they?
Страница 21 - At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Страница 9 - I wake : how happy they who wake no more ! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. I wake, emerging from a sea. of dreams Tumultuous; where my wreck'd, desponding thought, From wave to wave of fancied misery At random drove, her helm of reason lost.
Страница 44 - Sweet harmonist! and beautiful as sweet! And young as beautiful! and soft as young! And gay as soft! and innocent as gay ! And happy (if aught happy here) as good ! For Fortune fond, had built her nest on high.
Страница 11 - Though sullied*, and dishonour'd', still divine*? Dim miniature' of greatness absolute*! An heir of glory/! a frail child of dust*! Helpless immortal'! insect infinite*! A worm'! a god*! — I tremble' at myself, And in myself am lost*!
Страница 9 - Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose, I wake: How happy they, who wake no more! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.
Страница 26 - If nothing more than purpose in thy power, Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed. Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.
Страница 136 - Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, Blows autumn, and his golden fruits away : Then melts into the spring: soft spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish, fades ; As in a wheel, all sinks, to re-ascend. Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. With this minute distinction, emblems just, Nature revolves, but man advances ; both Eternal, that a circle, this a line. That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul, Ardent, and tremulous,...
Страница 21 - tis so frequent, this is stranger still. Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears The palm, That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born ; All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel, and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise (At least their own), their future selves applauds.
Страница 10 - That column of true majesty in man ! — Assist me ; I will thank you in the grave ; The grave your kingdom ; there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. But what are ye ? Thou who didst put to flight Primeval Silence, when the morning stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball — O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul — My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure, As misers to their gold, while others rest.