The task, a poem, illustr. by B. Foster

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Strana 202 - He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and, though poor perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say — " My Father made them all 1
Strana 45 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more...
Strana 132 - Cataracts of declamation thunder here ; There forests of no meaning spread the page, In which all comprehension wanders lost ; While fields of pleasantry amuse us there With merry descants on a nation's woes. The rest appears a wilderness of strange But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks, And lilies for the brows of faded age, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald...
Strana 66 - I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain ; And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture. Much impressed Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too. Affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.
Strana 11 - Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms, That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its...
Strana 238 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path, But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
Strana 245 - Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, The time of rest, the promised sabbath, comes. Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course Over a sinful world; and what remains Of this tempestuous state of human things, Is merely as the working of a sea Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest...
Strana 209 - Thou art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! From thee departing they are lost, and rove At random without honour, hope, or peace. From thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.
Strana 187 - Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts ; Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair, That monarchs have supplied from age to age With music, such as suits their sovereign ears; The sighs and groans of miserable men ! There's not an English heart, that would not leap To hear that ye were fallen at last ; to know That even our enemies, so oft employed In forging chains for us, themselves were free. For he who values liberty, confines His zeal for her predominance within No narrow bounds ; her cause...
Strana 134 - Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way, 1 love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, And dreaded as thou art!

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