Works, Volumen 27J. G. Gregory, 1864 |
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Página 336 - Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Página 105 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight : and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Página 246 - 'arth's orbit has an inclination towards changes,' you say." " The changes in the seasons, sir, are owing to ' the inclination of the earth's axis to the plane of its orbit.
Página 120 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed...
Página 284 - To prayer; — for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on ; Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows To shade the couch where his children repose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.
Página 33 - I'll read the writing. All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told : Many a man his life Iiath sold, But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Página 101 - And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve ; whether the gods which your fathers* served that were on the other side of the flood, t or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell : but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.
Página 210 - all work, and no play, makes Jack a dull boy...
Página 227 - But hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul : His native hills that rise...
Página 76 - LAUNCH thy bark, mariner ! Christian, God speed thee ! Let loose the rudder-bands — Good angels lead thee ! Set thy sails warily, Tempests will come ; Steer thy course steadily; Christian, steer home ! Look to the weather-bow, Breakers are round thee; Let fall the plummet now, Shallows may ground thee. Reef in the foresail, there ! Hold the helm fast ! So — let the vessel wear — There swept the blast. " What of the night, watchman ? What of the night?