The Nursery Garland: Being a Selection of Short, Classical Poems, Adapted to Very Early Youth, Etc

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J. Harris, 1801 - 172 Seiten
 

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Seite 165 - His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Seite 109 - Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge Thy foe.
Seite 164 - Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Seite 164 - Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven, On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Seite 95 - It is a period nowhere to be found In all the hoary registers of time, Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. Wisdom disclaims the word, nor" holds society With those who own it.
Seite 99 - How fair is the Rose ! what a beautiful flower ! The glory of April and May : But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, And they wither and die in a day. Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast, Above all the flowers of the field ! When its leaves are all dead and...
Seite 122 - Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame, Will never mark the marble with his name : Go, search it there, where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history ; Enough, that Virtue fill'd the space between ; Prov'd by the ends of being, to have been.
Seite 13 - I HATE that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round : To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, And lures from cities and from fields, To sell their liberty for charms Of tawdry lace and glittering arms ; And when Ambition's voice commands, To march, and fight, and fall in foreign lands.
Seite 127 - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
Seite 121 - Or in proud falls magnificently lost, But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.

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