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Página 237 - Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage and hounds...
Página 38 - He giveth snow like wool : He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth His ice like morsels : Who can stand before His cold? He sendeth out His word, and melteth them : He causeth His wind to blow, and the waters flow.
Página 29 - Awake : The morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us ; we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, How nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.
Página 82 - Thou crownest the year with thy goodness ; and thy paths drop fatness. They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness: and the little hills rejoice on every side. The pastures are clothed with flocks ; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.
Página 168 - Come on therefore, let us enjoy the good things that are present : and let us speedily use the creatures like as in youth. Let us fill ourselves with costly wine and ointments : and let no flower of the spring pass by us : Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they be withered...
Página 7 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Página 335 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but nature more...
Página 381 - Be thou on the earth;" likewise to the small rain, and to the great rain of his strength. He sealeth up the hand of every man ; that all men may know his work.
Página 30 - O unexpected stroke, worse than of death ! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both.