The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private EjaculationsPickering, 1844 - 350 páginas |
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Resultados 1-5 de 43
Página 17
... tears : Whose parts are as thy hand did frame ; No workman's tool hath touch'd the fame . A HEART alone Is fuch a ftone , As nothing but doth cut . Thy power Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame , To praise thy name ...
... tears : Whose parts are as thy hand did frame ; No workman's tool hath touch'd the fame . A HEART alone Is fuch a ftone , As nothing but doth cut . Thy power Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame , To praise thy name ...
Página 18
... and my heart's dear treasure Drops blood ( the only beads ) my words to measure : O let this cup pass , if it be thy pleasure : Was ever grief like mine ? These drops being temper'd with a finner's tears , A 18 THE CHURCH . Humility The ...
... and my heart's dear treasure Drops blood ( the only beads ) my words to measure : O let this cup pass , if it be thy pleasure : Was ever grief like mine ? These drops being temper'd with a finner's tears , A 18 THE CHURCH . Humility The ...
Página 19
... tears , A balfam are for both the Hemispheres , Curing all wounds , but mine ; all , but my fears . Was ever grief like mine ? Yet my Disciples fleep : I cannot gain One hour of watching ; but their drowsy brain Comforts not me , and ...
... tears , A balfam are for both the Hemispheres , Curing all wounds , but mine ; all , but my fears . Was ever grief like mine ? Yet my Disciples fleep : I cannot gain One hour of watching ; but their drowsy brain Comforts not me , and ...
Página 23
... tears were blood , the while you flept : Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept : Was ever grief like mine ? The foldiers lead me to the common hall ; There they deride me , they abuse me all : Yet for twelve heavenly legions I ...
... tears were blood , the while you flept : Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept : Was ever grief like mine ? The foldiers lead me to the common hall ; There they deride me , they abuse me all : Yet for twelve heavenly legions I ...
Página 25
... tears my foul , my body many a wound ; Sharp nails pierce this , but sharper that confound ; Reproaches , which are free , while I am bound : Was ever grief like mine ? Now heal thyself , Physician ; now come down . THE CHURCH . 25.
... tears my foul , my body many a wound ; Sharp nails pierce this , but sharper that confound ; Reproaches , which are free , while I am bound : Was ever grief like mine ? Now heal thyself , Physician ; now come down . THE CHURCH . 25.
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The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations - Primary Source Edition Alexander Balloch Grosart,George Herbert Prévia não disponível - 2013 |
Termos e frases comuns
aftra againſt alſo anſwer atque Becauſe beſt Biſhop bleffed blood breaſt Church cloſe croſs dear death decus defire didft doth dreft duft duſt e'en earth eyes fame fear feek fhall fhow thyself fide figh fince fing firſt fleſh fome forrow foul ftill fuch fure fweet glory grace grief hæc hand hath heart heaven himſelf holy houſe itſelf laſt leaſt lefs leſs live loft Lord Maſter meaſure mihi moft moſt mufic Muft muſt myſelf paſs pleaſe pleaſure pofy poor preſent quæ raiſe reft reſt reſtore ſay ſee ſeek ſenſe ſerve ſhall ſhe ſhine ſhould ſhow ſky ſpeak ſphere ſpirit ſpread ſpring ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtay ſtill ſtore ſtory ſtraight ſtrange ſtrength ſweet taſte tears thee theſe thine things thoſe thou art thou doft thy praiſe tibi treaſure unto uſe verſe whofe whoſe wilt wind wiſh
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 159 - I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute...
Página 15 - When once thy foot enters the Church, be bare. God is more there, than thou : for thou art there Only by his permission. Then beware, And make thyself all reverence and fear. Kneeling ne'er spoil'd silk stocking : quit thy state. All equal are within the Church's gate. Resort to sermons, but to prayers most : Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest ; Stay not for th...
Página 85 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Página 163 - COME, my way, my truth, my life ! Such a way as gives us breath ; Such a truth as ends all strife ; Such a life as killeth death. Come, my light, my feast, my strength ! Such a light as shows a feast ; Such a feast as mends in length ; Such a strength as makes his guest. Come, my joy, my love, my heart ! Such a joy as none can move ; Such a love as none can part ; Such a heart...
Página 50 - WHO says that fictions only and false hair Become a verse ? Is there in truth no beauty ? Is all good structure in a winding stair? . May no lines pass, except they do their duty Not to a true, but painted chair...
Página 160 - Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load.
Página 85 - ... Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie. My music shows ye have your closes. And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Página 92 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Página 75 - HE that is weary, let him sit. My soul would stir And trade in courtesies and wit, Quitting the fur, To cold complexions needing it. Man is no star, but a quick coal Of mortal fire : Who blows it not, nor doth control A faint desire, Lets his own ashes choke his soul.
Página 110 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...