Aggesden vicarage, or, Bridget Storey's first charge, Volume 1

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Página 249 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Página 233 - She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Página 174 - The human sorrow and smart ! And yet it never was in my soul To play so ill a part : But evil is wrought by want of Thought, As well as want of Heart...
Página 17 - COME to me, O ye children ! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow.
Página 115 - My son is my son till he gets him a wife, But my daughter's my daughter all the days of her life.
Página 130 - HE that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune ; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief. Certainly the best works, and of greatest merit for the public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men ; which both in affection and means have married and endowed the public.
Página 159 - Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord, Largely Thy gifts should be restored ; Freely Thou givest, and Thy word Is,
Página 174 - Of the hearts that daily break, Of the tears that hourly fall, Of the many, many troubles of life, That grieve this earthly ball...
Página 46 - Cold grew the foggy morn, the day was brief, Loose on the cherry hung the crimson leaf; The dew dwelt ever on the herb ; the woods...
Página 186 - Tho' thou art lonely, there's an eye will mark Thy loneliness, and guerdon all thy sorrow ! Tho' thou must toil 'mong cold and sordid men, With none to echo back thy thought, or love thee, Cheer up, poor heart ! thou dost not beat in vain, For God is over all, and heaven above thee — Hope on, hope...

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