The Temple,: Sacred Poems, and Private Ejaculations

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T. Buck, and R. Daniel, printers to the Universitie of Cambridge, 1638 - 192 pages
 

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Page 141 - All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not; forsake thy...
Page 105 - Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes; Trees would be tuning on their native lute To thy renown: but all their hands and throats Are brought to man, while they are lame and mute.
Page 167 - DISCIPLINE THROW away Thy rod, Throw away Thy wrath : 0 my God, Take the gentle path. For my heart's desire Unto Thine is bent : 1 aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And Thy book alone.
Page 82 - More servants wait on man Than he'll take notice of, in every path He treads down that which doth befriend him, When sickness makes him pale and wan. Oh mighty love ! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him.
Page 78 - ... Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie. My music shows ye have your closes. And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Page 16 - Thy power doth cut. Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame, To praise Thy name : That, if I chance to hold my peace, These stones to praise Thee may not cease. O let thy blessed Sacrifice be mine, And sanctify this Altar to be Thine.
Page 45 - O let me roost and nestle there : Then of a sinner Thou art rid, And I of hope and fear. Yet take Thy way ; for sure Thy way is best: Stretch or contract me, Thy poor debtor: This is but tuning of my breast, To make the music better.
Page 88 - Successive nights, like rolling waves, Convey them quickly, who are bound for death.
Page 161 - THE God of love my shepherd is, And he that doth me feed : While he is mine, and I am his, What can I want or need ? He leads me to the tender grass, Where I both feed and rest ; Then to the streams that gently pass In both I have the best.
Page 167 - DISCIPLINE Throw away Thy rod, Throw away Thy wrath; 0 my God, Take the gentle path! For my heart's desire Unto Thine is bent: 1 aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And Thy Book alone. Though I fail, I weep; Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace.

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