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Seite 309 - The Christian Year. Thoughts in Verse for the Sundays and Holy Days throughout the Year.
Seite 57 - Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. " Here, to the houseless child of want, My door is open still ; And, though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will...
Seite 135 - The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That showed the rogues they lied: The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died.
Seite 134 - Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song ; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray.
Seite 134 - And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends ; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the man.
Seite 62 - Turn, Angelina, ever- dear. My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee. "Thus let me hold thee to my heart; And every care resign : And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine ? " No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Seite 29 - My farm consisted of about twenty acres of excellent land, having given a hundred pounds for my predecessor's good-will. Nothing could exceed the neatness of my little enclosures ; the elms and hedge-rows appearing with inexpressible beauty. My house consisted of but one story, and was covered with thatch, which gave it an air of great snugness...
Seite 19 - You are going, my boy," cried I, " to London on foot, in the manner Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me the same horse that was given him by the good Bishop Jewel, this staff, and take this book too, it will be your comfort on the way ; these two lines in it are worth a million — I have been young, and now am old ; yet never saw I the righteous man forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread. Let this be your consolation as you travel on; Go, my boy, whatever be...
Seite 216 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.