#EnglishWriters
Here lies, whom hound did ne’er… Nor swiftewd greyhound follow, Whose foot ne’er tainted morning… Nor ear heard huntsman’s hallo’… Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
... England, with all thy faults, I l… My country! and, while yet a nook… Where English minds and manners m… Shall be constrain’d to love thee.…
There is a fountain filled with bl… And sinners plunged beneath that f… Lose all their guilty stains, lose… And sinners plunged beneath that f… The dying thief rejoiced to see th…
This is the feast of heavenly wine… And God invites to sup; The juices of the living Vine Were press’d to fill the cup. Oh! bless the Saviour, ye that ea…
Grant me the Muse, ye gods! whose… Seeks not the mountain-top’s perni… Who can the tall Parnassian cliff… To visit oft the still Lethean la… Now her slow pinions brush the sil…
Oh! for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame; A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb! Where is the blessedness I knew
‘Me too, perchance, in future days… The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. ’But I, or e’er that season come,
Poets attempt the noblest task the… Praising the Author of all good i… And, next, commemorating Worthies… The dead in whom that good abounde… Thee, therefore, of commercial fam…
Pity, says the Theban bard, From my wishes I discard; Envy, let me rather be, Rather far, a theme for thee. Pity to distress is shown.
This cabin, Mary, in my sight app… Built as it has been in our waning… A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to—the last retreat.
(Exodus, XV.26) Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are, Waiting to feel Thy touch: Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair And, Saviour, we are such.
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wa… The snail sticks close, nor fears… As if he grew there, house and all Together. Within that house secure he hides,
There is in souls a sympathy with… And as the mind is pitch’d the ear… With melting airs, or martial, bri… Some chord in unison with what we… Is touch’d within us, and the hear…
My former hopes are fled, My terror now begins; I feel, alas! that I am dead In trespasses and sins. Ah, whither shall I fly?
’Tis my happiness below Not to live without the cross, But the Saviour’s power to know, Sanctifying every loss; Trials must and will befall;