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beauty beneath BOOK bound breath cause charge charms close course death deep delights distant divine dream Earth ease ev'n ev'ry fair fall fancy fear feed feel field flow'r folly force fruits give grace half hand happy head heart Heav'n hold honour hope hour human JOHN SHARPE king land least leaves length less light live lost manners means mind nature never o'er once peace perhaps play pleasures pow'r praise proud prove rest rise scene schools seek seems seen shine side sight sleep smile soon soul sound stands sweet task taste thee theme thine things thou thought true truth turn virtue voice waste wind winter wisdom wise wish worth youth
Page 32 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
Page 154 - No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. The redbreast warbles still, but is content With slender notes and more than half...
Page 159 - The Lord of all, Himself through all diffused, Sustains and is the' life of all that lives. Nature iS but a name for an effect Whose cause is God.
Page 10 - Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that with a livelier green Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Page 10 - Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding shore...
Page 45 - I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain ; And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture. Much impressed Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too. Affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.
Page 157 - And of an humbler growth, the other tall, And throwing up into the darkest gloom Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew, Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf That the wind severs from the broken wave...
Page 145 - Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone, And eyes intent upon the scanty herb It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow, Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away From inland regions to the distant main.