The Seasons

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Thomas A. Ronalds, 1813 - 168 Seiten
 

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Seite 167 - tis nought to me ; Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes, there must be joy.
Seite 50 - For the kind hand of an assiduous care. Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Seite 166 - But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not Thee marks not the mighty Hand ; That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the Sun direct the flaming day; Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves. With transport touches all the springs of life.
Seite 167 - While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks, Retain the sound; the broad responsive low, Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns, And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song Burst from the groves; and, when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds, sweet Philomela ! charm The listening shades, and teach the night...
Seite 163 - Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? Those restless cares? those busy bustling days? Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? All now are vanished!
Seite 55 - But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad.
Seite 165 - And spreads a common feast for all that lives. In Winter awful thou ! with clouds and storms Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd, Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing ' Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore, And humblest nature with thy northern blast.
Seite 145 - Ah little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death, And all the sad variety of pain. How many sink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame ! how many bleed, By shameful variance betwixt man and man.
Seite 165 - Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Seite 55 - Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round Of thirty years ; to Mercury, whose disk Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze.

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