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Страница 205 - I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding ; and, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down.
Страница 190 - Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him.
Страница 194 - He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and, though poor perhaps compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say —
Страница 1 - Fair angel, thy desire, which tends to know The works of God, thereby to glorify The great Work-master, leads to no excess That reaches blame, but rather merits praise The more it seems excess, that led thee hither From thy empyreal mansion thus alone, To witness with thine eyes what some, perhaps, Contented with report, hear only in heaven: For wonderful indeed are all his works! Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all Had in remembrance always with delight.
Страница 149 - One Spirit — his, Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows. Rules universal nature. Not a flower But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, Of his unrivalled pencil.
Страница 186 - Tis Flora's page: — In every place, In every season, fresh and fair, It opens with perennial grace, And blossoms everywhere. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The Rose has but a summer reign, — The Daisy never dies.
Страница vii - ... cherished woodbine. I thought I never could be sated with the sweetness and freshness of a country so completely carpeted with verdure ; where every air breathed of the balmy pasture and the honeysuckled hedge.
Страница 186 - They saw, and thitherward they bent their way ; To this both knights and dames their homage made, And due obeisance to the daisy paid. And then the band of flutes began to play, To which a lady sung a virelay : And still at every close she would repeat The burden of the song, The daisy is so sweet.