The penitent

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Page 235 - He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day, But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun; Himself is his own dungeon.
Page 155 - How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find : * With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own.
Page 197 - Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup; Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, Heav'n-bom, and destin'd to the skies again.
Page 79 - When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known...
Page 313 - Time ! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence, Lulling to sad repose the weary sense, The faint pang stealest unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last...
Page 49 - A king can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith, he maunna fa' that! For a
Page 68 - And have I then no tears for thee, my father ? Can I forget thy cares, from helpless years, Thy tenderness for me...
Page 215 - People of gloomy uncheerful imaginations, or of envious malignant tempers, whatever kind of life they are engaged in, will discover their natural tincture of mind in all their thoughts, words, and actions. As the finest wines have often the taste of the soil, so even the most religious thoughts often draw something that is particular, from the constitution of the mind in which they arise.
Page 270 - Who, when a thief has robbed his house, Applies himself to cunning men, To help him to his goods again ; When all he can expect to gain, Is but to squander more in vain : And yet I have no other way, But is as difficult to play : For to reduce her, by main force, Is now in vain ; by fair means, worse...
Page 11 - The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth, That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart.

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