The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private EjaculationsPickering, 1844 - 350 páginas |
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Página 48
... thee : The world's too little for thy tent , A grave too big for me . Wilt thou meet arms with man , that thou dost stretch A crumb of duft from heaven to hell ? Will great God measure with a wretch ? Shall he thy ftature spell ? O let me , ...
... thee : The world's too little for thy tent , A grave too big for me . Wilt thou meet arms with man , that thou dost stretch A crumb of duft from heaven to hell ? Will great God measure with a wretch ? Shall he thy ftature spell ? O let me , ...
Página 49
... thou art rid , And I of hope and fear . Yet take thy way ; for fure thy way is beft : Stretch or contract me thy ... dost raise and raze , And every day a new Creator art . O fix thy chair of grace , that all my powers May also fix their ...
... thou art rid , And I of hope and fear . Yet take thy way ; for fure thy way is beft : Stretch or contract me thy ... dost raise and raze , And every day a new Creator art . O fix thy chair of grace , that all my powers May also fix their ...
Página 94
... thy ways : [ me : Lord , thou didst make me , yet thou woundest Lord , thou doft wound me , yet thou doft relieve me : Lord , thou relievest , yet I die by thee : Lord , thou doft kill me , yet thou dost reprieve me . But when I mark my ...
... thy ways : [ me : Lord , thou didst make me , yet thou woundest Lord , thou doft wound me , yet thou doft relieve me : Lord , thou relievest , yet I die by thee : Lord , thou doft kill me , yet thou dost reprieve me . But when I mark my ...
Página 98
... thou dost thyself immure and close In fome one corner of a feeble heart : Where yet both Sin and Satan , thy old foes , Do pinch and straiten thee , and use much art To gain thy thirds and little part . I fee the world grows old , when ...
... thou dost thyself immure and close In fome one corner of a feeble heart : Where yet both Sin and Satan , thy old foes , Do pinch and straiten thee , and use much art To gain thy thirds and little part . I fee the world grows old , when ...
Página 143
... I have alfo ftars and shooters too , Born where thy fervants both artilleries use . My tears and prayers night and day do woo , And work up to thee ; yet thou dost refuse . Not but I am ( I must say still ) THE CHURCH . 143 Doomsday 197.
... I have alfo ftars and shooters too , Born where thy fervants both artilleries use . My tears and prayers night and day do woo , And work up to thee ; yet thou dost refuse . Not but I am ( I must say still ) THE CHURCH . 143 Doomsday 197.
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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...