Holme Park, or, The Reverses of Fortune, a tale of real life, etc

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Whittaker, 1839 - 198 páginas

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Página 181 - Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit ! rest thee now ! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod His seal was on thy brow Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! Soul, to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.
Página 103 - It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.
Página 104 - Oh how unlike the complex works of man, Heaven's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan ! No meretricious graces to beguile, No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; From ostentation, as from weakness, free, It stands like the cerulean arch we see, Majestic in its own simplicity. Inscribed above the portal, from afar Conspicuous as the brightness of a star, Legible only by the light they give, Stand the soul-quickening words — BELIEVE, AND LIVE.
Página 47 - The Lord is good unto them that wait for Him, to the soul that seeketh Him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.
Página 94 - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven ; And how they might have borne more welcome news.
Página 192 - Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
Página 66 - The fondness of a creature's love, How strong it strikes the sense! Thither the warm affections move, Nor can we call them thence.
Página 185 - Tis to bind, By soft affection's ties, on human hearts, The thought of death, which reason, too supine, Or misemploy'd, so rarely fastens there. Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both Combin'd, can break the witchcrafts of the world. Behold, th...
Página 182 - As for God, his way is perfect: the word of the LORD is tried : he is a buckler to all those that trust in him.
Página 167 - Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear, That mourns thy exit from a world like this ; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, And stayed thy progress to the seats of bliss • No more confined to grov'ling scenes of night, No more a tenant pent in mortal clay, Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight, And trace thy journey to the realms of day.

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