The Golden Gift: A Wreath of Gems from the Prose and Poetical Writers of England and America. Prepared Especially as a Gift Book for All Seasons

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Emily Percival
Phillips, Sampson,, 1853 - 288 páginas
 

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Página 240 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Página 67 - BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth. And lose you quite.
Página 65 - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath...
Página 66 - Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great ; Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ; This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
Página 61 - My wishes are but few, All easy to fulfil, I make the limits of my power The bounds unto my will. I have no hopes but one, Which is of heavenly reign ; Effects attained, or not desired, All lower hopes refrain.
Página 65 - Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make...
Página 68 - Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave.
Página 240 - WHO has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam...
Página 63 - A temper'd calm I find To be most solace to itself, Best cure for angry mind. Spare diet is my fare, My clothes more fit than fine ; I know I feed and clothe a foe, That pamper'd would repine. I envy not their hap Whom favor doth advance ; I take no pleasure in their pain That have less happy chance. To rise by others' fall I deem a losing gain ; All states with others' ruin built To ruin run amain.
Página 237 - Again the wood and long-withdrawing vale In many a tint of tender green are drest, Where the young leaves, unfolding, scarce conceal, Beneath their early shade, the half-form'd nest Of finch or wood-lark; and the primrose pale, And lavish cowslip, wildly scatter'd round, Give their sweet spirits to the sighing gale. Ah! season of delight!— could aught be found To soothe awhile the...

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